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VI.  Democracy  and  the  Will  to  Power 
By  James  N.  Wood 


THE  FREE-LANCE  BOOKS  "  EDITED  BY  H.  L.  MENCKEN 


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DEMOCRACY  AND 
THE  WILL  TO  POWER 


THE   FREE   LANCE    BOOKS 

Edited  ivith  Introductions 
By  H.  L.  Mencken 

i    youth  and  egolatry 
By  Pio  Baroja 

ii    ventures  in  common  sense 
By  E.  W.  Howe 

iii    the  antichrist 

By  F.  W.  Nietzsche 

iv    we  moderns 

By  Edwin  Muir 

V    democracy  and  the  will  to 

POWER 

By  James  N.  Wood 

vi    in  defense  of  women 
By  H.  L.  Mencken 

Other  volumes  in  preparation 
For  sale  at  all  bookshops 

ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  PUBLISHER 

THE  FREE  LANCE  BOOKS.   V 

EDITED  WITH  INTRODUCTIONS  BY  H.  L.  MENCKEN 


DEMOCRACY  AND 
THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

By  JAMES  N.  WOOD 


NEW  YORK  ALFRED  •  A  •  KNOPF  mcmxxi 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  Inc. 


PBINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


JC 
4  23 

CONTENTS 

Introduction,  by  H.  L.  Mencken,  7 
I    The  Will  to  Power,  21 
II     Democracy,  Aristocracy  and  Morality,  47 

III  The  Mob  Man,  69 

IV  Origins  and  Tendencies,  87 

V    Power  Transition:   Industrialism,  Socialism 
and  Slavery,  109 

VI    Woman  and  Genius,  171 

VII    The  Rationale  of  Power,  201 

VIII     Reflections,  227 

IX    Ancient    and    Modern:     A    Study    in    Con- 
trasts, 237 


QQ*^1  1  U 


INTRODUCTION 

What  we  have  here  is  the  first  serious  attempt, 
at  least  by  an  American,  to  get  at  the  funda- 
mentals of  the  democratic  process  of  govern- 
ment. Upon  the  superficial  phenomena  of 
democracy,  of  course,  there  has  been  endless 
writing,  some  of  it  more  or  less  honest  and  scien- 
tific; but  all  that  sort  of  thing  is  a  study  of 
symptoms,  not  of  the  disease  itself.  Mr.  Wood 
sees  clearly,  like  Dr.  Hans  Delbriick,  that 
democracy,  in  actual  practise,  has  little  if  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  determination  and  execution 
of  the  popular  will,  or  even  of  the  will  of  the 
majority.  There  Dr.  Delbriick,  in  his  "Regie- 
rung  und  Volkswille,"  stops;  he  proves  that  the 
common  notion  is  false,  but  in  his  approach  to 
the  truth  he  halts  in  a  suburb  of  questions  and 
surmises.  Mr.  Wood  is  bolder,  perhaps  because 
he  has  lived  nearer  to  democracy  all  his  life. 
The  essential  process,  he  argues,  is  a  conflict  be- 
tween superior  minority  groups — superior,  at  all 
events,  politically,  in  strategical  sense,  in  clar- 


INTRODUCTION 


ity  of  purpose  and  will-pressure — with  each 
striving  its  utmost  to  arouse  and  victimize  the 
great  masses  of  the  stupid  and  ignorant,  and  to 
convert  them  into  infantry  for  its  army.  Un- 
der democracy,  the  largest  battalions  always  win. 
Even  when,  as  Dr.  Delbriick  shows  from  Ameri- 
can history,  the  victory  goes  to  an  absolute  minor- 
ity, it  is  always  relatively  a  majority.  But  the 
issues  that  mark  the  primary  conflict  of  wills 
and  the  issues  that  are  used  to  beat  up  recruits 
are  by  no  means  necessarily  identical;  in  fact, 
they  are  seldom  if  ever  identical.  Thus  there 
is  an  esoteric  politics  and  an  exoteric  politics — a 
combat  for  ideas,  advantages,  position,  power, 
and  a  combat  for  mere  votes,  the  symbols  of 
power. 

It  is  this  disparity  that  makes  the  political 
struggle  under  democracy  so  dishonest  and  so 
ridiculous.  Practical  politics  consists,  not  in 
finding  out  what  the  majority  wants  and  exe- 
cuting it  as  faithfully  as  possible,  but  in  mobil- 
izing an  endless  series  of  new  majorities  by  in- 
venting an  endless  series  of  new  shibboleths  and 
enthusiasms,  most  of  them  bearing  no  sort  of 
contact  with  the  underlying  contest  of  wills,  and 
many  of  them  quite  devoid  of  any  intelligibility 
—8— 


INTRODUCTION 


whatsoever.  It  often  happens,  indeed,  that  the 
phrase  used  as  bait  for  the  general  is  at  com- 
plete variance  with  the  aim  sought  to  be  estab- 
lished by  the  will-group  employing  it.  This 
was  plainly  the  case  in  the  national  election  of 
1916.  Here  a  typical  democratic  mob-master, 
eager  and  determined  to  take  the  United  States 
into  the  war,  faced  a  populace  obviously  averse 
to  war,  and  so  he  had  to  carry  out  his  enterprise 
by  posing  as  an  advocate  and  guardian  of  peace. 
Once  the  mob  had  made  him  secure  in  that  char- 
acter, he  straightway  flew  to  arms.  But  maybe 
I  under-rate  the  self-deception  of  one  in  whose 
soul,  after  all,  there  was  always  much  more  of 
the  popinjay  than  of  the  Maohiavelli.  What  is 
to  be  remembered  in  every  such  case  is  that  the 
politician  is  not  the  primary  agent.  He  belongs 
to  the  victimized  majority  rather  than  to  the  ma- 
chiavellian minority;  he  is,  at  best,  no  more 
than  a  kept  captain,  and  if  he  ends  by  believing 
in  his  own  idiotic  war-cries,  it  is  no  more  than 
a  proof  that  he  is  full  of  human  juices.  In  the 
case  I  cite  there  are  historians  who  argue  that 
the  prater  of  peace  was  actually  more  or  less 
honestly  pacific.  But  certainly  no  sane  man 
will  ever  argue  that  the  will-group  behind  him 
—9— 


INTRODUCTION 


was  of  like  mind.  That  will-group  threw  off  all 
disguise  the  moment  the  ballots  were  safely  in 
the  box,  and  its  subsequent  career  of  legal  and 
patriotic  (and  hence  highly  laudable)  brigand- 
age let  in  a  brilliant  light  upon  the  true  nature 
of  its  original  aims  and  motives. 

The  history  of  a  democracy  is  largely  a  his- 
tory of  just  such  swindles.  The  bewildered 
mob-man  is  forever  holding  coroner's  inquests 
upon  the  mortal  remains  of  his  great  passions  of 
yesterday.  Today  a  new  idea  enchants  him,  and 
he  is  full  of  Christian  enthusiasm  for  it;  tomor- 
row he  discovers  that  it  was  a  mere  "cloake  to 
goe  invisible"  for  some  enterprise  having  no 
sort  of  relation  to  it,  save  perhaps  the  depressing 
relation  of  complete  antithesis.  Often  enough 
the  idea  is  quite  impossible  of  execution,  even 
presuming  the  existence  of  good  faith;  here  the 
swindle  has  its  rise,  not  in  the  sinister  opera- 
tions of  some  concealed  will,  but  in  the  very 
nature  of  things.  The  mob-man,  in  fact,  is  al- 
ways crying  for  the  moon.  But  while  he  divides 
himself  into  two  tatterdemalion  hosts,  each  led 
by  leaders  who  tell  him  they  will  get  it  for  him, 
the  ordinary  business  of  the  world  must  go  on  on 
more  earthly  planes,  and  with  greater  regard  for 
—10— 


INTRODUCTION 


realism.  It  is  on  these  planes  that  the  so-called 
Invisible  Government  lives  and  has  its  being. 
That  government  is  composed  of  men  who  deal, 
not  with  glittering  phrases,  but  with  adamantine 
facts.  Capital  is  such  a  fact — money,  credit, 
the  whole  machine  of  orderly  trade.  The  venal- 
ity of  politicians — their  sole  concern  with  their 
jobs — is  another.  The  infinite  credulity  and 
sentimentality  of  the  plain  people  is  yet  an- 
other. It  is  in  terms  of  such  harsh  facts  that  the 
actual  work  of  the  state  is  carried  on,  even  under 
a  democracy.  That  work  involves  conflict,  the 
nice  adjustment  of  varying  ideas,  the  triumph  of 
will  over  will.  Despite  the  alarms  of  those  who 
scent  the  process  without  ever  understanding  it, 
there  is  seldom  unanimity  among  those  concealed 
masters.  It  is  quite  unusual,  indeed,  for  all 
of  them  or  nearly  all  of  them  to  find  their 
interests  identical,  as  happened  after  the  elec- 
tion of  1916.  Too  often  they  make  war  upon 
one  another  in  a  Berserker  manner,  and  great 
bugaboos  emerge  from  the  conflict  to  startle  and 
ride  the  general.  I  often  wonder  that  some  his- 
torian does  not  trace  out  the  ultimate  conse- 
quences, in  public  turmoil  and  epidemic  indig- 
nation, of  the  old  conflict  between  capital  the 
—11— 


INTRODUCTION 


manufacturer  and  capital  the  merchant — that  is, 
between  the  protective  tariff  and  free  trade. 
For  generations  the  Republic  was  rocked  by  the 
struggle,  and  men  came  to  imperishable  fame 
by  mouthing  the  gaudy  phrases  that  it  threw  off, 
and  millions  of  anonymous  Americans  tore  all 
their  passions  to  tatters  trying  to  rise  to  its  in- 
cessant challenges.  The  inner  history  of  the 
Civil  War  has  been  investigated,  but  the  long 
tariff  battle  is  still  spoken  of  in  terms  of  Mc- 
Kinley,  Dingley  and  Payne,  which  is  precisely 
as  if  the  American  Revolution  were  spoken  of 
in  terms  of  the  Hessians.  Again,  what  lay  un- 
der the  League  of  Nations  debate  was  probably 
no  more  than  a  contest  between  capital  thinking 
internationally  and  capital  still  clinging  to  na- 
tionalism— between  a  will  to  conquer  the  world 
and  a  will  to  safeguard  the  loot  so  ripe  for  the 
harvest  at  home.  Here  was  a  genuine  clash  of 
wills.  But  in  the  practical  politics  of  the  time 
there  was  notliing  save  a  clash  of  hollow  words — 
phrases  to  beguile  the  inflammatory  and  unin- 
telligent. 

H.   G.   Wells,   sensing  this   sharp   distinction 
between  the  sham  duel  that  goes  on  in  sight  of 
the  populace  and   the  real  duel   that   goes   on 
—12— 


INTRODUCTION 


behind  the  scenes,  is  full  of  plans,  in  his  "Out- 
line of  History,"  for  bringing  the  latter  out  upon 
the  stage.  What  we  have  now,  he  says,  is  a 
"community  of  faith  and  obedience" — that  is, 
the  plain  people  are  beguiled  into  acquiescence 
by  appeals  to  their  loyalties,  their  prejudices, 
their  whole  outfit  of  stupidities,  and  so  kept 
from  showing  too  much  curiosity  as  to  what  is 
going  on  in  camera.  What  he  proposes  to  set 
up  is  a  "community  of  will,"  which  is  to  say,  a 
social  organization  in  which  the  plain  people 
will  be  acutely  consdious  of  all  the  interior 
issues,  and  so  be  in  a  position  to  settle  them 
realistically  and  in  their  own  fashion,  without 
the  present  confusing  intervention  of  bogus  is- 
sues. A  pleasing  program,  but  not  one  that 
enters  into  practical  politics.  The  forgotten 
factor  is  the  populace's  age-old  credulity  and 
sentimentality,  its  insatiable  appetite  for  being 
fooled.  The  thing  obviously  goes  beyond  the 
bounds  of  a  misfortune;  too  often  it  seems  to 
take  on  the  proportions  of  a  grand  passion.  Let 
one  demagogue  lift  the  curtain  ever  so  little,  and 
there  is  always  another  one  to  pull  it  down  again, 
or  to  choke  the  opening  with  flags,  bunting  and 
buckets  of  tears,  or  to  draw  attention  from  it  by 
—13— 


INTRODUCTION 


giving  a  more  familiar  and  hence  a  more  charm- 
ing show  across  the  stage.  In  the  long  run,  the 
odds  are  inevitably  upon  this  demogogue  of  the 
second  order.  The  plain  people  distrust  and 
dislike  truth-tellers,  for  the  truth  is  something 
harsh,  and  they  prefer  their  ease.  It  is  the  most 
comforting  soothsayer  who  is  always  on  top,  once 
the  clash  of  tin  swords  is  over. 

Wells  is  not  unaware  of  this  disconcerting 
fact,  but,  being  a  thoroughgoing  Utopian,  he  re- 
fuses to  be  discouraged.  His  remedy  is  educa- 
tion, a  peruna  with  a  name  that  is  somehow 
familiar.  Let  in  the  light!  School  the  prole- 
tarians! Polish  and  fertilize  their  minds  until 
they  can  tell  a  hawk  from  a  handsaw  at  one 
glance!  Fill  them  with  all  the  known  politico- 
economical  and  politico-sociological  facts,  so 
that  not  even  sobs  can  fool  them  more!  .  .  . 
Alas,  what  an  heroic  effort  to  lift  the  mob-man 
by  his  boot-straps!  Who  is  to  do  all  this  whole- 
sale educating  of  the  uneducatable?  Who  is  to 
keep  the  mob  supplied  with  the  only  true  truth? 
Wells'  answer,  so  far  as  I  can  make  it  out,  seems 
to  be:  The  Government.  In  other  words,  the 
powers  that  now  rule  so  prosperously  and  so 
happily  are  to  engage  in  a  gigantic  conspiracy 
—14— 


INTRODUCTION 


for  their  own  destruction!  Mr.  Wood  is  a  good 
deal  less  romantically  hopeful.  He  sees  quite 
clearly  that  nothing  of  the  sort  will  ever  come  to 
pass.  The  actual  agent  in  any  such  colossal  up- 
lifting would  have  to  be  the  professional  mob- 
master  that  he  calls  the  corsair — and  the  corsair 
is  no  traitor  to  his  beer  and  skittles.  He  serves 
the  powers  that  be,  perhaps  not  always  with  an 
easy  conscience,  but  certainly  always  with  a 
laudable  diligence.  He  is  the  propagandist  of 
correct  ideas,  the  newspaper  editorial  writer, 
the  college  professor,  the  lawmaker,  the  learned 
judge.  Wells  himself,  by  a  curious  irony,  has 
been  of  the  fraternity;  he  served  the  group  of 
mighty  wills  that  is  England,  during  the  war,  by 
preparing  and  disseminating  official  balderdash. 
He  is  a  corsair  and  doesn't  know  it.  Or  per- 
haps his  whole  book  is  subtle  propaganda  for  the 
same  masters — a  diabolical  attempt  to  engage 
the  forward-looking  with  a  new  kidney  cure, 
the  while  the  old  sugar  and  albumen  keep  on 
accumulating. 

Mr.  Wood  offers  no  remedy,  real  or  quack. 

He  is,  in  fact,  under  no  illusions  about  human 

progress.     It   may  be  a  fact,   or  it  may  be  a 

dream.     Viewing  the  scene  at  hand,  he  discerns 

—15— 


INTRODUCTION 


nothing  properly  describable  as  improvement. 
The  process  of  retailing  ideas  that  Wells  calls 
education  seems  to  Wood  to  be  simply  propa- 
ganda, and  he  points  out  very  penetratingly  that 
its  ultimate  effect,  far  from  being  an  increased 
capacity  for  judgment  and  reflection,  may  be  a 
total  destruction  of  both,  with  a  weakening  of 
the  general  will  for  good  measure.  The  Ameri- 
can newspapers  of  today  are  certainly  not  edu- 
cational influences,  if  education  has  anything  to 
do  with  a  grasp  of  the  facts.  They  disperse  a 
hundred  times  as  many  stupid  and  base  ideas 
as  sound  and  noble  ideas.  Nor  are  the  schools 
and  colleges  much  better.  There  was  a  day, 
perhaps,  when  the  American  professor  was  more 
or  less  a  free  agent — when  he  yet  enjoyed  some 
of  the  old  high  immunities  of  his  predecessor, 
the  theologian.  But  that  day  is  no  more.  To- 
day he  can  exist  only  as  a  corsair  of  docile 
habits.  The  moment  he  tries  to  expose  and  ex- 
pound the  realities  behind  the  masquerade  he  is 
unfrocked  and  silenced.  If  he  lets  in  the  light 
ever  so  little,  the  holes  must  go  through  his  own 
fair  corpse. 

James  N.  Wood  was  born  at  Petersburg,  Va., 
—16— 


INTRODUCTION 


in  1871.  On  his  father's  side  he  is  descended 
from  English  Quakers  who  came  to  Pennsylvania 
with  William  Penn;  on  his  mother's  side  he  be- 
longs to  a  Virginia  family  that  descends  from 
Bishop  Burnet.  He  was  educated  in  the  schools 
of  Alexandria,  Va.,  Washington  and  Baltimore, 
and  attended  Swarthmore  College,  but  did  not 
graduate.  His  profession  is  that  of  a  mechani- 
cal engineer,  and  he  has  designed  and  invented 
many  useful  machines,  including  coal  trimmers, 
cotton  presses,  cigarette  machines,  and  gas  and 
steam  engines.  He  has  taken  out  more  patents 
for  the  gin  compression  of  cotton  than  any  other 
inventor.  In  1892  he  designed  an  aeroplane, 
and  was  laughed  at  as  a  visionary. 

Always  interested  in  political  and  philosophi- 
cal ideas,  he  became  an  active  Socialist  in  New 
York  in  1900,  and  was  organizer  of  Local  New 
York  and  a  member  of  the  State  Commit- 
tee. But  the  hollowness  of  Socialism  soon  dis- 
gusted him,  and  two  years  afterward  he  left  the 
party.  Later  on  the  Socialists  made  his  sever- 
ance complete  by  formally  expelling  him.  He 
has  stood  free  of  all  party  ties  ever  since. 

H.  L.  Mencken. 
—17— 


THE  WILL  TO  POWER 


I 

THE  WILL  TO  POWER 


The  Concept  of  Progress 

The  concept  of  progress  as  a  basic  tendency 
in  social  life  is  derived  from  the  theory  of  physi- 
cal evolution,  and  is  accepted  by  many  still  in 
doubt  about  the  latter.  He  must  be  courageous 
who  affirms  a  doubt  as  to  the  demonstrated 
validity  of  the  principle,  or  even  fails  to  find  it 
clearly  enough  substantiated  to  warrant  positing 
it  in  the  category  of  immutable  natural  laws,  so- 
called.  That  it  is  attractive  and  plausible  can- 
not be  denied,  but  it  embraces  many  contradic- 
tions that  escape  its  advocates.  A  scientific  ex- 
amination of  it  would  involve  prodigious  labour, 
and  this,  in  turn,  might  lead  to  the  unfoldment  of 
a  novel  and  quite  contrary  idea.  Physical  evo- 
lution may  or  may  not  be  true.  Within  his- 
torical times,  certainly,  nothing  is  observable  to 
indicate  any  basic  alteration  in  man.  The  link 
—21— 


DEMOCRACY 


between  animal  and  human,  even  if  it  were  ever 
found,  would  call  for  ten  thousand  anterior  links, 
running  back  in  a  chain  beyond  the  lower  verte- 
brates. The  most  intelligent  animal,  oddly 
enough,  is  least  like  man  in  conformation:  the 
elephant.  The  insect  world,  made  up  of  crea- 
tures wholly  unlike  man,  includes  orders  that 
display  astonishing  capacities,  even  for  the  com- 
plexities of  social  organization. 

In  time,  of  course,  the  diverse  problems  sug- 
gested by  a  candid  survey  of  the  matter  may  all 
be  resolved  by  science.  In  spite  of  the  nega- 
tive attitude  here  assumed,  the  idea  is  not  at  all 
to  question  evolution  broadly.  It  is  a  tremen- 
dous conception,  one,  in  fact,  that  makes  a  power- 
ful appeal  to  the  mind,  even  without  demonstra- 
tion. Everything  in  nature  passes  through 
stages  of  growth:  birth,  unfoldment,  decay. 
Change  greets  the  vision  everywhere.  A  theory 
that  casts  such  phenomena  into  an  orderly  re- 
lation has  an  engaging  plausibility,  for  order  is 
something  that  man  seeks  always.  Yet,  has  man 
descended  from  the  ape,  or  is  the  latter  his  retro- 
grading descendant?  Even  a  theory  as  attrac- 
tive as  that  of  evolution  must  be  approached 
with  an  open  mind. 

—22— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 


Scientific  Theory- 
Theory,  in  science,  is  a  changing  quantity, 
responding  to  an  evolutionary  process  of  its 
own.  How  few  are  the  brilliant  hypotheses  that 
have  withstood  the  test  of  time,  though  all  of 
them  have  been  deferred  to  with  enthusiasm  in 
their  day  by  an  amazed  world!  The  effort  to 
detect  a  general  principle,  applicable  to  a  defi- 
nite range  of  relations,  embodies  an  ideal  as 
elusive  as  the  phenomena  to  which  it  is  sought  to 
apply  it.  The  faculty  of  generalization,  or  co- 
ordination, is  perhaps  the  highest  of  those  to 
which  man  owes  his  greatness.  He  cannot  ob- 
serve a  series  of  relations  without  trying  to  link 
them  to  a  common  principle.  Even  when  he  is 
in  error,  the  broad  concept  aids  him  in  reaching 
understanding — but  leaves  him,  alas,  no  alterna- 
tive but  to  abandon  the  premise  by  which  he 
achieved  it.  The  history  of  science  shows  its 
share  of  such  remains;  they  even  repeat  them- 
selves, an  old  idea  recurring,  and  resuming  an 
importance  not  before  suspected.  Witness  the 
mediaeval  belief  in  a  primordial  substance,  a 
final  quintessence  from  which  all  other  forms 
— 2S— 


DEMOCRACY 


of  matter  have  arisen.  The  distillation  of  mer- 
cury was  repeated  hundreds  of  times  to  prove 
the  falsity  of  the  theory.  Modem  chemistry  re- 
turns to  it. 

The  indivisible  atom  diffuses  itself  into  elec- 
trons, and  these  resolve  into  particles  even  more 
minute.  They  are  quantities  without  existence; 
ethereal  conceptions  by  which  the  mind  essays 
to  fix  a  series  of  probabilities  that  appear  to  call 
for  transcendental  littleness.  Even  that  tenet 
supreme,  the  law  of  the  conservation  of  energy, 
trembles  before  the  bewildering  attributes  of 
radio-active  elements.  We  behold  molecular 
associations  so  transient  that  they  dissolve  spon- 
taneously, hurling  their  constituent  infinitesi- 
malities  into  the  voids  of  space.  There  opens 
ahead  a  fairy  land  of  conjecture,  but  the  path  to 
positive  knowledge  is  lost  in  a  maze  of  dancing 
shadows. 


Man  in  the  Cosmos 

If  all  this  is  true  of  quantities  that  can  be  fol- 
lowed through   laboratory   reactions,   quantita- 
tively and  qualitatively,  how  far  off  is  certainty 
as  to  the  development  of  the  actual  nature  of 
—24— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

man;  how  obscure  his  past;  how  mysterious  his 
future ! 

All  we  may  say  is  that,  evolving  or  not,  man 
is,  for  the  time,  at  any  rate,  a  stationary  quan- 
tity, and  that  his  attitude  towards  Nature  shows  a 
singular  disregard  of  his  environment.  He  wars 
against  it,  struggling  to  adapt  it  to  his  shape  and 
will.  This  spirit  seems  characteristic  of  even 
the  most  inferior  races.  Between  them  and  the 
highest  animal  there  is  an  abyss  of  incalculable 
vastness.  The  real  point  to  be  determined  in  the 
natural  history  of  man  is  not  the  type  of  form 
evolution,  as  valuable  as  such  knowledge  would 
be,  but  to  what  extent  the  struggle  with  Nature 
has  modified  mental  attitudes  and  capacities; 
to  what  extent  have  they  been  strengthened  or 
weakened  by  ages  of  conflict  with  the  physical 
world. 

The  net  result,  so  far,  of  applying  this  idea 
of  evolution  to  social  change  has  been  to  en- 
courage formulae.  The  future  is  mapped  out 
with  surprising  confidence.  The  idealistic  state 
of  the  coming  man  is  contemplated  with  an  al- 
most jealous  longing,  when  contrasted  with  our 
present  unhappy  condition.  There  is  doubt  of 
the  wisdom  of  considering  the  past  at  all,  the 
—25— 


DEMOCRACY 


future  is  so  bright  and  sure.  None  the  less,  the 
known  facts  indicate  that  historical  man  has  not 
altered  in  physique,  and  that  if  he  has  altered 
mentally  the  nature  of  the  alteration  cannot  be 
determined.  Morally,  his  sameness  is  remark- 
able. He  seems  to  be  as  good  and  as  evil  today 
as  he  was  in  Greece;  just  as,  five  thousand  years 
before,  the  Egyptian  was  as  good  and  as  evil 
as  the  later  Greek.  The  origin  of  human  quali- 
ties is  not  to  be  detected  in  the  habits  of  the 
amoeba.  It  is  to  be  ascertained  by  a  study  of 
man  himself,  and  of  the  bases  of  his  mental 
variations. 


The  Struggle  for  Existence 

Nature  deals  with  man  as  with  a  step-child. 
He  discovers  himself  at  enmity  with  her  from 
his  birth.  What  he  needs  must  be  wrung  from 
her.  Between  them  there  is  spontaneous  and 
endless  antagonism.  Man  is  therefore  a  child 
of  war,  and  is  gifted  with  warlike  attributes. 
These  are  intelligence  and  will.  So  armed,  he 
maintains  war — and  is  not  always  victorious. 
None  the  less,  his  status  renders  him  enormously 
—26- 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

enterprising  and  aggressive.  He  struggles  to 
conquer  Nature,  and  even  endeavours  to  surpass 
her.  This  leads  him  to  modify  the  natural 
world ;  against  its  order  he  is  forever  at  variance. 
The  forest  he  replaces  by  cities;  his  structures 
avoid  the  infinite  differentiation  about  him  and 
follow  the  geometrical  conformations  of  ihe 
microscopic  world. 

But  Nature  is  the  least  of  his  opponents ;  there 
is  another  more  potent  and  that  is  man  himself. 
Man  also  fights  man,  thus  facing  two  powerful 
antagonists  at  once.  His  conflict  with  Nature 
is  due  to  the  pressure  of  mere  physical  necessity, 
the  elementary  requirements  of  the  animal  func- 
tions, but  when  he  fights  man  it  is  to  determine 
a  more  complex  thing;  the  quality  and  scope  of 
the  joint  battle  against  environment.  There  is, 
then,  a  distinction  between  men:  the  desires  of 
one  do  not  coincide  with  those  of  another.  This 
fact,  so  productive  of  the  worst  and  most  hope- 
less sorts  of  strife,  has  led  to  singular  conse- 
quences in  the  mental  world:  dreams  of  a  com- 
plete mergence  of  purposes,  universal  monotony 
achieved  in  a  Utopia  of  peaceful  brothers. 

The  dominant  factor  in  all  human  activity  is 
—27— 


DEMOCRACY 


the  will  to  live  and,  among  the  majority  it  has 
been,  at  all  times,  almost  the  only  recognizable 
impulse.  Among  men,  however,  two  classes 
have  always  been  apparent:  those  of  one  class 
desiring  existence  merely,  and  those  of  the  other 
wishing  an  environment  of  their  own  creation. 
Let  this  second  wish  be  called  the  will  to  create, 
as  opposed  to  the  mere  will  to  exist.  The  supe- 
rior man  refuses  to  accept  the  limitations  of  life 
as  he  finds  them  on  entering  the  world.  In  his 
imagination  he  perceives  a  super-world,  and 
this  he  desires  to  make  his  theatre  of  action. 
But  his  effort  lat  creation  straightway  involves 
opposition  from  the  groups  contented  with  mere 
living,  and  the  superior  then  endeavours  to  sub- 
ordinate the  inferior  to  his  own  purpose.  This 
tendency  is  apparent  in  all  orders.  The  humble 
impose  their  will  on  those  even  less  than  them- 
selves, and  yield,  in  turn,  to  the  will  of  superiors 
beyond  them.  This  effort  to  subordinate  the 
will  of  one  to  that  of  another  has  been  called 
the  will  to  power.  In  man  it  is  characteristic. 
Throughout  history  it  transcends  all  other  fac- 
tors. It  is  the  cause  alike  of  improvement  and 
of  disintegration.  A  veritable  Saturn,  it  con- 
—28— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

sumeo  its  own  children.  The  various  orders  of 
the  past  were  erected  and  destroyed  by  the  force 
of  this  will  to  power  in  different  epochs.  So- 
called  social  evolution  is  merely  the  result  of 
conflicts  between  rival  groups,  striving  to  master 
the  inert  and  inferior  man,  to  utilize  him  for 
their  own  purposes.  The  form  of  expression  of 
this  will  constantly  changes;  its  purpose  remains 
invariable. 

Such  struggles  are  merciless  in  their  nature; 
they  are  for  existence  itself  in  a  definite  sense, 
and  admit  of  no  quarter.  Nor  are  they  always 
decided  in  favour  of  the  superior  group.  More 
often,  indeed,  the  relatively  inferior  triumphs, 
and  long  periods  elapse  before  the  former  level 
of  progress  is  reached.  Nevertheless,  it  tends 
to  return  in  the  end.  The  destruction  of  Greco- 
Roman  civilization  by  its  slave  class  led  to  a 
thousand  years  of  darkness  in  Europe;  the  few 
fragments  of  a  literature  that  remain  are  al- 
most the  only  living  testimonials  to  the  exalted 
mental  attainments  of  the  destroyed  order.  Yet 
the  influence  of  these  fragments  upon  the  new 
civilization  of  the  West  has  been  greater  than 
the  combined  effects  of  all  the  other  heirlooms 
—29— 


DEMOCRACY 


of  antiquity.  Their  value  springs  from  an  in- 
dependence and  clarity  of  thought  still  lacking 
in  the  modern. 


The  Delusion  of  Equality 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  in  all  times  and  under 
every  social  form  men  have  been  living  witnesses 
to  the  truth  that  no  two  are  alike  and  equal,  the 
error  persists,  constituting  one  of  the  most  blat- 
ant negations  of  the  obvious  that  has  ever  marked 
man's  judgment  of  natural  phenomena.  But 
while  vague  allusions  to  such  a  fallacy  appear 
in  ancient  writings,  it  remained  for  later  genera- 
tions to  discover  in  equality  a  basis  for  political 
relation.  In  modern  times  the  idea  awoke  into 
significant  life  during  the  struggle  between  a 
rising  mercantile  class  and  a  landed  aristocracy. 
Disguised  in  idealistic  garments,  it  charmed  a 
decaying  intellectual  caste,  and  was  even  ap- 
plauded by  dreamers  of  the  class  against  which 
it  was  leveled.  This  supreme  illusion  was  enun- 
ciated by  doctrinaires  who  aimed  to  break 
down  the  bonds  of  the  soil  and  force  the  inferior 
groups  of  men  into  cities,  there  to  be  exploited 
by  a  rising  manufacturing  power.  The  theory 
—30— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

was  promulgated  with  the  idea  of  convincing 
the  worker  that  nothing  distinguished  the  supe- 
rior man  from  him  but  opportunity.  Many  of 
its  leading  advocates  were  men  whose  lives  were 
a  flat  denial  of  it,  but  Europe  at  the  time  was 
swept  by  a  ruthless  spirit  of  revolt,  and  nothing 
was  overlooked  that  promised  help  in  the  war 
against  a  master  class  that  still  ruled,  but  was 
beginning  to  waver  and  break  up. 

The  whole  movement  offers  an  example  of  the 
ruthless  means  resorted  to  by  one  superior  group 
to  wrest  from  another  control  of  the  superior 
labour  element.  No  method  is  considered  un- 
fair that  achieves  this.  Members  of  a  dominant 
caste  are  themselves  often  deceived  by  the  hocus- 
pocus.  It  is  clear  and  will  become  clearer  as 
additional  data  is  examined,  that  the  high  water 
mark  of  a  given  caste,  that  is,  the  period  when  it 
finds  itself  apparently  safely  entrenched  and 
proof  against  attack  is,  in  reality,  a  critical  pe- 
riod. Other  wills  assert  their  power  at  such 
times,  appealing  to  the  inferior  groups,  the  aim 
being  to  remove  from  a  given  structure  its  sup- 
porting means.  In  a  sense,  this  subversion  is 
always  being  attempted,  even  in  the  most  stable 
societies,  but  history  notes  it  only  at  vital  inter- 
—31— 


DEMOCRACY 


vals.     The  antagonism  then  takes  on  the  pro- 
portions of  a  tangible  and  bitter  conflict. 

6 

Nietzsche 

The  notion  of  the  will  to  power  originated 
with  Friedrich  Nietzsche,  but  he  got  the  germs 
of  it  from  Arthur  Schopenhauer,  who,  first 
among  modems,  attempted  a  survey  of  existence 
with  the  object  of  observing  it  as  it  actually  was 
and  is.  His  doctrine  of  the  will  to  live  was  the 
first  step  forward  since  Plato's  time,  and  with  it 
he  renewed,  at  a  stroke,  the  link  with  the  Aryans, 
of  which  Greek  philosophy  had  been  the  reflec- 
tion in  Europe.  Schopenhauer  recognized  the 
eternal  enmity  of  Nature,  and  despaired  of  con- 
quering it.  He  viewed  the  world  with  the  calm 
pessimism  of  a  Christ  or  a  Buddha,  finding  no 
good  in  it.  But  Nietzsche  detected  in  the  will 
to  power  the  means  through  which  man  aims 
and  struggles  to  become  superior  to  his  surround- 
ings; that  is,  to  Nature  itself.  He  described  man 
as  a  being  forever  at  war.  (The  attempts  sub- 
sequently made  to  find  in  this  doctrine  the  in- 
spiration of  a  particular  war  must  be  classed 
—32— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

with  the  humorous,  or  pathetic,  incidents  of  his- 
tory.) 

The  real  eminence  of  this  philosopher  lies  in 
the  fact  that  he  was  the  first  of  Europeans  to 
reason  philosophically  from  a  scientific  view- 
point. His  opinions,  as  a  consequence,  em- 
braced radical  conclusions  that  led  to  his  tem- 
porary isolation.  This  is  a  penalty  that  every 
wanderer  in  strange  places  must  pay.  The 
world  resents  change,  and  has  no  pity  for  daring 
spirits.  Nietzsche  added  to  his  unpopularity 
by  a  bitterness  of  tone  that  was  often  derisive — 
a  mental  defence,  perhaps,  against  an  almost 
insuperable  environment.  His  final  collapse, 
mentally,  has  been  held  a  reason  for  doubting 
his  conclusions.  Mediocrity  always  revels  in 
the  weaknesses  of  the  great,  and  likes  to  feel  that 
its  own  obtuseness  makes  it,  in  some  way,  supe- 
rior to  genius.  The  impressive  thing  about 
Nietzsche  is  the  undeviating  and  uncompromising 
spirit  in  which  he  stood  before  the  enigma  of 
life.  He  essayed  to  view  it  in  all  its  fulness — 
and  all  its  terror.  He  beheld  man  triumphant 
in  his  conflict  with  Nature  and  his  inferior  as- 
sociates, and  in  the  superman  he  forecasted  a 
—33— 


DEMOCRACY 


type  that  was  to  be  superior  to  both.  He  was, 
therefore,  the  prophet  of  the  ultimate  scientific 
man:  one  powerful  in  will  and  knowledge,  a 
master  of  environment  and  circumstance. 

Nietzsche  is  rated  one  of  the  pessimistic  phil- 
osophers, but  they  have  considered  him  only 
casually  who  arrive  at  such  a  conclusion.  That 
he  refused  to  blind  himself  to  the  evil  in  the 
world  only  testifies  to  his  strength.  In  an  age 
that  revels  in  illusion,  in  flagrant  denial  of  the 
obvious,  what  surer  antidote  is  there  than  Na- 
ture? How  deny  that  which  obtrudes  at  every 
step  in  her  labyrinth,  where  mercy  is  ever  absent 
and  pity  is  unknown?  Certainly,  it  is  conceiv- 
able that  it  may  be  best  for  the  weak  to  remain 
blind,  lest  their  lack  of  spirit  should  cause  the 
consciousness  of  reality  to  overwhelm  them. 
But  the  strong  man  must  face  truth  without  fal- 
tering. Whether  a  transient  monad  or  an  eter- 
nal identity,  he  is  nothing  until  he  can  stand 
before  the  cosmic  problem  unmoved. 

Nietzsche  should  be  classed  among  the  great 
optimists.     He  believed  that,  even  though  en- 
vironed by  evil,  man  can  become  superior  to  it, 
and  attain  his  ends  regardless  of  it. 
—34^ 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 


The  War  of  Castes 

The  will  to  power  may  be  taken  as  an  attribute 
of  the  individual,  and  from  such  a  standpoint  it 
has  been  here  discussed,  but  it  may  also  be 
thought  of  as  a  dominating  characteristic  of 
castes,  classes  and  states.  In  any  society,  the 
question  of  the  form  of  government  is  secondary. 
Organization  follows  purpose,  and  purpose  is  the 
intent  of  intelligence.  The  significant  question 
is,  what  is  the  nature  of  the  primary  means  em- 
ployed to  maintain  position,  to  exercise  control, 
to  foster  the  eminence  of  a  controlling  individ- 
ual or  group?  The  latter  constitutes  the  ruling 
and  directing  power,  and  is,  in  fact,  the  embodi- 
ment of  the  will  to  power  in  a  social  sense. 
This  power,  apparent  in  all  societies,  may  be 
likened  to  the  crest  of  a  wave,  composed  of  the 
various  particles  that  have  attained  separation 
from  the  more  congested  mass,  and  are  bearing 
themselves  onward  to  a  fairer  region  of  free- 
dom and  light. 

But  all  this,  of  course,  does  not  imply  any 
excellence  morally  or  intellectually.  It  may 
—35— 


DEMOCRACY 


be,  indeed,  that  the  more  intellectual  groups  and 
individuals  lack  a  pristine  force,  an  adaptability 
to  the  details  of  life,  that  precludes  their  su- 
premacy. They  may  merely  become  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  actual  over-group,  or  throw  their 
influence  to  alternate  groups,  for,  except  in  so- 
cieties of  phenomenal  stability,  the  highest 
groups  are,  as  a  rule,  constantly  antagonistic. 
The  world  is  more  often  ruled  by  fools  than  by 
wise  men,  for  by  reason  of  the  vicissitudes  of 
life  the  latter  do  not  always  reach  the  summit. 
The  genuinely  superior  man,  indeed,  often  la- 
bours under  serious  handicaps.  Against  him 
are  combined  all  his  inferiors,  and  among  those 
of  his  own  order  he  must  contend  with  char- 
acters as  egoistic  as  himself.  Such  men  prefer 
to  fight  alone.  Between  such  rivals  the  great 
wars  of  history  have  been  fought,  ending  often  in 
mutual  disaster.  Inferior  groups  have  risen  to 
power  on  the  ruins  of  systems  thus  wrecked  by 
desperate  encounters  among  superiors.  Only  at 
far  separated  periods  has  the  world  seen  men  of 
such  transcendent  greatness  that  they  have  been 
able  to  seize  control  of  the  whole  social  struc- 
ture and  mould  it  to  their  wills.  Even  so,  their 
tenure  has  always  been  brief.  They  last  until 
—36— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

the  lesser  grasp  the  exact  magnitude  of  the  indi- 
vidual facing  them.  A  union  of  forces,  hitherto 
discordant,  is  then  effected  and  the  greater  is 
hurled  down.  The  destruction  of  such  men  may 
lead  to  calamitous  consequences.  The  assassina- 
tion of  Julius  Caesar  left  anarchy  in  Rome;  a 
throne  established  by  -a  man  of  such  enterprise 
and  foresight  might  have  given  the  Empire  a 
far  more  secure  future.  The  remark  of  Plu- 
tarch that  violence  stayed  the  hand  of  the  gods 
is  not  without  acuteness.  So  likewise,  the  fall 
of  Napoleon  brought  about  the  instability  of 
modem  Europe. 

8 

The  Superior  Group 

From  all  this  it  may  be  safely  laid  down  that 
no  superior  group  can  hope  for  an  indefinite 
tenure  of  life.  Once  in  power,  its  aim  has  al- 
ways been  to  shape  the  social  structure  with  a 
sole  reference  to  the  rights  of  itself  and  its  heirs, 
and  while  such  artificial  forms  may  endure  for 
long  periods  they  inevitably  fall  at  last  as  a 
result  of  pressure  from  below.  It  is  paradoxical 
of  all  such  efforts,  indeed,  that  they  defeat  their 
own  purpose.  Succeeding  generations,  born  to 
—37— 


DEMOCRACY 


power,  may  lack,  or  ignore,  the  attributes  of 
those  who  made  possible  their  dominance. 
Novel  conditions  may  arise  with  which  they  find 
themselves  unable  to  cope.  Their  intellectual 
aides,  upon  whom  a  certain  dependence  is  un- 
avoidable, may  desert  them. 

Even  so,  the  form  of  a  social  organization, 
once  it  is  firmly  set  up,  has  more  vitality  than 
the  will  of  those  who  moulded  it.  There  is  an 
inertia  about  it,  due  to  the  social  functions  that 
co-ordinate  within  it.  As  a  rule,  it  is  only  after 
great  lapses  of  time  that  it  is  completely  de- 
stroyed. To  effect  so  grave  a  result  prolonged 
labour  among  subject  groups  is  required;  there 
must  be  radical  changes  in  popular  conceptions, 
and  the  secret  establishment  of  novel  norms. 
Even  then,  the  npw  is  composed  of  much  of  the 
old,  superficially  disguised — different  names 
for  similar  things.  These  novelties,  intrinsi- 
cally inferior  to  what  has  preceded  them,  lack  a 
secure  basis  in  habit  or  experience,  but  they 
take  on  the  aspect  of  dignity  when  the  culture 
of  the  past  has  been  interwoven  with  the  new. 

A  favourite  device  of  those  who  have  dreamed 
of  perpetuating  a  permanent  caste  has  been  that 
of  breeding.  All  hereditary  aristocracies  are 
—38— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

based  on  the  assumption  that  high  qualities  may 
be  transmitted  by  blood.  But  that  superior  men 
can  be  deliberately  bred  is  not  a  practical  deduc- 
tion of  science,  even  if  it  is  a  theoretical  one. 
There  is  some  doubt,  too,  as  to  what  constitutes 
general  superiority.  An  excursion  through  the 
literature  of  the  subject  is  not  enlightening. 

It  may  be  safely  said,  however,  that  aristocra- 
cies decline  as  certainly  as  political  systems, 
and  that  there  are  sound  reasons  for  it.  Prima- 
rily, the  very  strength  of  the  social  order  that 
supports  them  may  prove  their  undoing.  The 
aggressive  element  is  no  longer  taxed  to  exert  it- 
self, and  so  tends  to  languish.  They  may  betake 
themselves  to  an  artificial  and  exclusive  environ- 
ment, viewing  the  outer  world  through  the  eyes 
of  a  mediate  class.  They  may  lose  themselves 
in  the  contemplation  of  the  ideal,  or  in  the  en- 
joyment of  an  aesthetic  luxury.  They  may  lose 
their  aggressive  masculinity  by  imputing  to  the 
female  moral  qualities  not  actually  possessed, 
thus  weakening  themselves  by  devotion  to  imagi- 
nary virtues. 

Errors  cannot  be  made  with  impunity  by  supe- 
rior groups,  for  the  lower  are  ever  on  the  alert, 
and  study  to  find  the  means  and  moment  to  at- 
^39— 


DEMOCRACY 


tack.  No  social  form  has  ever  been  proof 
against  all  of  these  defects;  some  have  existed 
longer  than  others;  all  default  at  last. 


Sacerdotal  Castes 

It  is  significant  of  power  groups  that  those 
evidencing  the  most  security  and  length  of  life 
have  been  of  a  religious  nature.  While  rising, 
in  time,  to  control  of  vast  temporal  agencies,  they 
yet  depend,  fundamentally,  on  control  of  the 
mental  horizon  of  their  subjects.  To  accomplish 
this  control  extraordinary  methods  are  resorted 
to.  Their  personnel  is  rigourously  trained  in  a 
regimen  of  will.  The  lives  of  all  members  are 
subordinated  to  the  sustained  imposition  of  this 
will  on  inferiors.  Celibacy  is  an  invariable  pre- 
requisite in  such  systems,  for  it  obviates  the  lia- 
bility to  weakness  through  allegiance  to  family. 
Woman  is  viewed  as  a  sex  agent,  purely,  and 
must  be  content  with  the  honours  accorded  her 
among  the  divinities.  Men  otherwise  weak  are 
thus  transformed  into  forces  of  great  potentiality. 
Systems  rise  and  fall  about  them,  but  they  go 
on  and  on,  apparently  beyond  the  reach  of 
change.     Contrasted  with  the  method  of  selec- 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

tion  by  breeding,  the  outcome  is  altogether 
favourable  to  the  sacerdotal  scheme.  All  his- 
tory proves  its  immeasurably  greater  effective- 
ness. 

There  is  a  democracy  in  such  systems,  too, 
since  the  avenues  of  advancement  are  open  to 
all  who  choose  to  contend,  and  the  men  attracted 
to  them  are  of  a  somewhat  higher  type  than  the 
ordinary,  and  real  excellence  and  power  are 
quickly  recognized.  More  important  still,  ex- 
ceptional characters,  men  of  the  genuinely  supe- 
rior orders,  men  wearied  by  the  ceaseless  pres- 
sure of  inferiors,  or  overcome  by  the  sorrows  of 
life,  find  here  a  haven.  In  such  organizations 
there  are  always  a  large  number  of  such  men. 
Their  personality  is  merged  in  the  mass  of  the 
order;  their  satisfaction  is  derived  from  helping 
to  sustain  it;  their  egotism  is  lost  in  a  collective 
will  which  moves  every  moment  towards  a  com- 
mon object.  The  result  is  enthusiasm,  the  will's 
greatest  stimulant.  Such  groups  are  almost  ir- 
resistible. Only  voluntary  relapse  from  a 
primary  ideal,  or  merciless  extinction,  as  of  the 
Magi  in  Susa,  can  dethrone  them.  Even  then, 
the  ideas  that  they  leave  behind  them  must 
be  respected  by  their  conquerors  for  long  periods 
-^1— 


DEMOCRACY 


of  time,  so  potent  is  their  grip  on  the  intelligence 
of  inferior  men.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  re- 
ligion remains  much  the  same  from  age  to  age, 
merely  altering  the  names  of  its  divinities,  and 
adapting  its  method  to  new  conditions. 

10 

The  Ebb  and  Flow  of  Power 

The  will  to  power  is,  therefore,  a  mobile  ele- 
ment in  all  organizations;  something  forever 
seeking,  ever  obtaining,  ever  losing.  At  any 
stage  it  is  the  best  expression  of  superiority  pos- 
sible under  the  given  conditions.  Alteration 
follows  only  after  the  appearance  of  an  individ- 
ual or  group  of  singular  power,  or  after  a  com- 
promise between  unequal  but  related  groups. 
Stability  comes  through  the  control  of  the  instru- 
ments of  power,  or  through  a  profound  influence 
upon  all  inferior  groups  by  the  agency  of  specific 
ideas.  * 

A  study  of  society  which  omits  a  factor  so 
dominant  as  the  will  to  power  cannot  be  looked 
on  as  more  than  superficial.  Through  its  study 
the  forces  underlying  surface  movements  may  be 
detected,  and  their  aim  understood.  The  trans- 
—42— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

formations  which  occur  may  always  be  identified 
as  the  resuhs  of  struggles  in  which  new  groups 
have  successfully  assailed  others  that  have  pre- 
viously controlled. 


43- 


DEMOCRACY,  ARISTOC- 
RACY AND  MORALITY 


II 

Democracy,  Aristocracy  and  Morality 

11 

The  Democratic  Idea 

The  name  of  a  social  organization  is  of  little 
importance;  it  is  the  nature  of  the  means  by 
which  it  is  maintained  that  counts — the  form  of 
the  will  to  power  underlying  it,  the  method  pur- 
sued by  its  dominant  group  to  maintain  superior- 
ity. These  forces  are  sometimes  direct  and  visi- 
ble, but  in  democracies  they  are  rarely  so. 
There,  veil  conceals  veil.  Nothing  is  what  it 
seems  to  be.  The  superficial  is  a  cypher,  a 
cryptogram.  The  democratic  form  now  domin- 
ates in  all  civilized  countries,  although  variously 
applied  and  revealed.  It  is  within  the  limits  of 
democratic  society  that  the  operations  of  the  will 
to  power  are  to  be  considered  here,  and  the 
point  of  view  will  be  further  narrowed  by  con- 
fining the  inquiry  to  the  mass  form,  so-called, 
that  is,  to  government  by  majority,  for  this  is 
—47— 


DEMOCRACY 


the  ideal  towards  which  such  societies  assume 
to  aim.  Government  within  them,  if  this  be  true, 
is  ordered  by  majorities.  It  is  the  will  of  a  ma- 
jority that  rules — the  joint  intent  of  a  vast  num- 
ber of  individuals. 

But  democracy,  itself,  is  a  fluid  term.  There 
have  been  such  forms  since  history  began  and 
some  of  its  most  brilliant  chapters  were  written 
under  so-called  democratic  conditions.  This 
was,  however,  only  in  appearance.  Democracy, 
in  Greece,  was  aristocratic,  in  Venice  it  was 
oligarchical;  the  various  Italian  republics  were 
chiefly  aristocratic.  The  opening  of  new  do- 
mains, following  the  discovery  of  America,  led  to 
the  appearance  of  such  governments  under  con- 
ditions distinct  from  any  that  had  ever  been 
seen  before.  In  the  United  States,  separation 
from  Great  Britain,  a  purely  economic  matter, 
was  followed  by  a  constitutional  republicanism 
containing  principles  derived  from  French  ideal- 
ism. 

The  basis  of  the  American  system  is  a  written 
constitution,  a  paper  formulated  by  men  of  an 
extreme  conservatism  and  plainly  distrustful  of 
the  people.  This  is  shown  by  the  carefully  de- 
veloped checks  to  spontaneous  action ;  the  method 
^8— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

of  balancing  one  branch  against  another. 
French  influence  is  detected  in  the  effort  to  limit 
executive  power  and  in  the  enunciation  of  broad 
principles  of  personal  liberty;  that  is,  the  right 
of  free  speech,  and  of  the  press,  and  the  privi- 
lege of  bearing  arms.  Actually,  however,  this 
influence  was  largely  imaginary,  the  chief  con- 
trolling force  being  fundamentally  English,  for 
that  nation  had  ever  maintained  liberal  ideas  in 
this  department,  a  result  of  the  character  of  her 
people,  going  back  to  their  Germanic  origins. 
Northern  Europe  was  the  birthplace  of  modem 
democracy,  the  idea  coming  from  the  ancient  as- 
semblies in  her  gloomy  forests.  France,  by 
reason  of  the  attractive  platitudes  of  her  Eight- 
eenth Century  writers,  simply  became,  for  a 
time,  the  spokesman  for  all  this  ancient  dem- 
ocracy. 

But  the  long  struggle  against  feudalism,  dur- 
ing which  the  expression  of  ideas  was  curtailed, 
had  made  free  speech  a  new  fetich  in  revolu- 
tionary Europe  and  its  inclusion  in  the  American 
Constitution  must,  therefore,  be  granted  to 
French  influence  specifically,  in  spite  of  the 
deeper  English  derivation  behind  it.  At  the 
time,  France  was  the  fashion,  intellectually,  and 
—49— 


DEMOCRACY 


Jefferson,  Paine  and  Franklin  were  evidently 
governed  by  it.  Washington  was  a  conservative 
of  the  conservatives,  and  displayed  little  interest 
in  the  technique  of  Jacobin  culture.  Jefferson's 
attachment  was  largely  that  of  a  free  thinker  of 
the  reserved  class.  A  man  of  some  brilliance, 
of  high  position,  and  given  to  idealism,  his  mind 
apparently  wavered.  The  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence, a  uniquely  incongruous  medley  of 
contradictions,  expressed  the  effort  of  an  English 
mind  to  parade  in  terms  transiently  familiar  to 
the  boulevards.  Paine,  an  unfortunate  borne 
down  by  the  pressure  of  circumstances,  dreamed 
of  individual  eminence  attained  by  a  particular 
code  of  laws.  He  was  thus  the  forerunner  of 
the  true  American  of  today,  who  seeks  in  legis- 
lation a  panacea  for  all  ills. 

The  social  forces  behind  the  American  move- 
ment were  aristocratic  and  mercantile.  The 
merchants  of  New  England  joined  hands  with  the 
landed  proprietors  of  the  South,  both  confident 
there  was  room  for  each  in  a  world  new  and  un- 
scarred  by  European  traditions.  Both  were  ob- 
livious of  the  coming  manufacturing  caste  that 
was  to  make  them  implacable  enemies.  Noth- 
ing can  be  less  true  than  the  popular  idea  that 
—50— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

the  American  Republic  was  the  product  of  men 
longing  for  radical  democracy. 

12 

Democracy  in  Practice 

A  pure  democracy  would  be  one  in  which  the 
majority  was  absolute,  and  not  limited  by  a 
written  constitution,  but  except  in  negligible 
communities  such  commonwealths  do  not  exist. 
In  others, — that  is,  those  of  consequence  in  the 
world — there  are  either  specific  constitutions 
limiting  action  or  legal  traditions  amounting  to 
constitutional  inhibitions  but  somewhat  broader. 
Some  include  aristocracies  which  participate  in 
the  government  by  right  of  birth.  Of  all  these 
varieties,  the  formal  constitutional  democracies 
are  the  least  consistent.  The  fundamental  docu- 
ments upon  which  they  are  based  are  subject  to 
interpretations  which  may  reverse  their  meaning. 
Adhesion  to  them,  theoretically  demanded,  may 
transform  an  individual  simple  enough  to  ac- 
cept their  clauses  at  face  value  into  a  criminal. 
Even  mandatory  clauses  can  be  constnied  into 
negations.  All  depends  upon  the  definition 
made  by  a  court,  and  this  adheres  to  the  princi- 
ple of  expediency.  This  expediency  is  public 
^51— 


DEMOCRACY 


policy  and  can  transcend  the  paper  by  which  it  is 
supposed  to  be  limited.  In  mass  societies,  spe- 
cifically, the  governing  will  therefore  concerns 
itself  with  moulding  this  policy  to  its  interest. 
The  tendency  becomes  more  definite  as  public 
morale  declines,  always  a  striking  phenomenon 
in  such  societies.  Great  contests  originate  over 
amendments  which,  when  carried,  are  openly 
ignored.  The  theoretical  suffrage  rights  of  the 
coloured  race  in  the  United  States,  so  ferociously 
fought  for,  exist  today  only  in  communities  that 
voluntarily  concede  them.  The  right  to  bear 
arms,  and  freedom  of  speech  and  of  the  press, 
specifically  defined,  survive  only  as  rhetorical 
affirmations.  There  follows  the  curious  contra- 
diction that  a  prison  sentence  may  await  the  man 
who  believes  that  positive  statements  convey 
ideas. 

All  democracies  are  affected  by  a  further 
force,  unexpressed,  but  present  in  each,  to  wit, 
tradition.  This  is  the  sum  of  the  rights  and 
privileges  supposed  to  attach  to  the  individual, 
forming  a  body  of  natural  rights  beyond  the 
scope  of  law,  a  resisting  quantity  to  which  law 
conforms  itself.  These  rights  are  readily  de- 
tected in  a  given  political  body,  and  their  ex- 
—52- 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

tent  always  defines  the  limits  beyond  which  legis- 
lation is  resented.  Liberty,  as  an  intelligible  ex- 
pression, is  embraced  by  them,  for  the  spirit  of 
independence  in  a  given  order  always  manifests 
itself  by  an  insistence  on  the  recognition  of  such 
rights.  This  is  the  unwritten  constitution  of  the 
inferior  group  in  all  societies,  and  it  is  rarely 
threatened,  save  where  the  general  will  force  has 
declined.  This  is  an  important  observation. 
The  aggressive  power  of  the  inferior  group  not 
only  defines  its  own  strength  and  importance;  it 
likewise  determines  the  quality  of  the  ruling 
factions,  when  compared  with  those  of  other  so- 
cieties. From  passive  collectivities  great  men 
do  not  arise,  and  it  is  therefore  the  constant  aim 
of  inferior  minds  to  lower  the  standard  of  indi- 
vidual aggressiveness.  By  this  means  the  liberty 
of  lower  types  is  assured. 

Traditional  rights  are  racial;  that  is,  they  de- 
fine the  virility  of  masses,  their  masculinity  and 
forcefulness.  The  liberalism  of  English  cus- 
toms does  not  trace  to  Magna  Charta,  for  noth- 
ing is  less  justified  than  the  exaggerated  impor- 
tance attached  to  that  document.  It  results  from 
the  stubbornness,  the  brutality,  of  the  basic  Eng- 
lishman.    Men  devoid  of  brutality  are  men  de- 


DEMOCRACY 


void  of  sex.  The  consequences  of  this  brutality 
in  English  life  have  been,  on  the  whole,  bene- 
ficial. Primarily,  it  has  led  to  a  certain  defer- 
ence to  individual  liberty  that  has  conferred  on 
the  race  a  deserved  reputation  for  liberalism. 
But  on  the  other  hand,  it  has  fathered  a  domin- 
ant caste  of  great  acumen  and  power,  for  the 
reason  that  real  skill  and  courage  were  requisite 
to  mastering  and  directing  a  stubborn  people. 
The  gradual  decline  of  this  pristine  vigour  can 
alone  lead  to  the  fall  of  the  race.  The  inaugura- 
tion of  mass  democracy  seems  to  indicate  its  im- 
permanence.  The  elasticity  existing  for  cen- 
turies as  the  result  of  high  class  tension  is  giv- 
ing way,  assuring  either  an  absolute  autocracy, 
or,  more  probably,  a  simple  democratic  state, 
governed  by  mediocrity. 

13 

Aristocratic  Functions 

Aristocracies,  in  modem  societies,  acutely  af- 
fect the  environment  in  which  they  persist. 
Their  influence  is  spiritual,  and  to  spiritual  in- 
fluence man  is  always  more  responsive  than  he  is 
to  merely  material  stimuli.  Embracing  the  re- 
sults of  the  only  human  breeding  experiment 
^54— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

' 

ever  attempted,  these  classes  include  many  men 
of  natural  distinction.  Their  characteristics  are 
egotism  and  will,  inbred  for  generations,  and  it 
is  impossible  for  such  individuals  to  participate 
in  ordinary  affairs  without  attracting  attention 
by  the  display  of  these  qualities.  Even  when 
nobler  gifts  have  gradually  been  effaced,  the 
former  persist,  and  quite  logically,  for  it  was 
due  to  them,  originally,  that  the  ancestors  of  the 
present  individuals  forced  their  way  to  leader- 
ship. An  aristocracy  is  the  natural  custodian 
of  a  nation's  culture.  Drawn  to  the  arts  through 
freedom  from  commercial  pursuits,  aristocrats 
treasure  the  works  of  genius,  as  they  have  been 
its  patrons.  The  inner  nature  of  such  groups  is, 
therefore,  complex,  including  the  highest  con- 
ceptions, even  when  debased  by  habits  that  other- 
wise weaken  character.  The  inner  world  of  the 
superior  man  is  always  extensive  when  compared 
to  that  of  the  inferior;  this  is,  above  all  else,  the 
reason  of  his  superiority.  Will  alone  may 
carry  the  lowest  to  power;  it  is  only  the  man 
who  is  profound  inwardly,  a  complex  of  internal 
and  external  ideas,  who  is  noble. 

The  moral  effect  of  such  a  class  is  far  reach- 
ing in  whatever  society  it  appears.     Its  presence 
^55— 


DEMOCRACY 


acts  as  a  curb  on  ignoble  tendencies;  it  deprives 
the  purely  sordid  of  the  satisfaction  of  being 
worshipped;  it  forms  a  balance  against  grovel- 
ling materialism.  Far  from  the  common  im- 
pression so  often  expressed,  it  views  with  a 
friendly  air  the  more  dependent  classes,  and  is 
antagonistic  to  ruthless  methods  of  dealing  with 
them.  Its  extinction  is  always  a  significant 
phenomenon,  for  it  shows  a  moral  decline  and 
the  inauguration  of  a  mediocre  epoch. 

This  element,  in  America  always  small,  has 
gradually  been  effaced  here.  The  blood  has  be- 
come diffused  in  aimless  crosses,  but  it  is  still 
marked  in  individuals  at  random  intervals,  and 
is  responsible  for  occasional  displays  of  spirit 
in  unexpected  quarters.  On  the  whole,  aggres- 
siveness is  not  an  American  characteristic,  nor 
could  it  well  be  so  in  view  of  the  indiscriminate 
blending  of  inferior  blood  strains  that  has  gone 
on  here.  The  notion  that  this  condition  is 
favourable  to  the  development  of  a  novel  type, 
uniquely  efficient,  is  not  borne  out  by  experience. 
The  thoroughbred  is  a  product  of  selection,  and 
the  great  races  of  history  have  been  isolated  and 
inbred,  weakening  in  the  end  with  the  infusion 
of  promiscuous  blood  lines.  It  is  this  tendency 
—56-- 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

that  has  lowered  the  individuality  of  recent  peo- 
ples. Psychologically,  it  is  largely  responsible 
for  the  childish  faith  in  the  future — a  character- 
istic phenomenon  of  the  modern  world. 

14 

Democracy  and  Wealth 

In  present  day  democracies  life  has  resolved 
itself  into  a  struggle  for  power,  and  this  appears, 
primarily,  as  a  universal  effort  to  secure  the  ele- 
ment held  to  be  synonymous  with  it,  wealth. 
Through  this  the  subjection  of  the  ordinary  and 
the  extraordinary  man  is  secured.  Without  it 
the  most  elementary  ambitions  come  to  naught; 
ideas  remain  incipient;  existence  becomes  a  vain 
effort  to  conquer  disappointment  and  despair. 
Regardless  of  individual  capacity,  men  strive  to 
first  bridge  this  chasm  when  birth  has  not  dow- 
ered them  with  the  key  to  the  halls  of  power. 
It  is  a  contest  in  which  all  are  free  to  enter,  and 
it  acts  as  a  leveller,  in  that  success  is  taught  to 
be  possible  to  every  one.  He  who  fails  in  this 
primary  test  is  not  only  condemned  by  the  world, 
he  condemns  himself,  since  the  ordeal  has  ob- 
tained the  standing  of  a  principle,  the  individual 
who  fails  to  show  gifts  consonant  with  it  being 
—57— 


DEMOCRACY 


rated  defective  in  natural  ability.  In  all  mass, 
or  democratic  societies,  this  criterion  maintains 
itself,  whether  denied  or  not.  Intellectual  gifts 
are  esteemed  inferior  to  it,  for  however  desirable 
they  may  be,  the  existence  of  wealth  and  its  sig- 
nificance as  an  open  sesame  of  power,  make  it 
superior.  In  such  societies  all  the  relations  of 
life  are  subordinated  to  success.  The  unsuccess- 
ful man  is  the  weak  man,  and  he  repents  his 
weakness  as  the  religious  man  repents  his  sins. 
Since  wealth  can  be  derived  from  no  other  source 
than  labour,  and  as  labour  in  abundance  is  the 
essential  prerequisite  of  any  mode  of  getting 
benefits  from  it,  labour,  in  turn,  that  is,  pro- 
ductive commercial  labour,  is  idealized  too. 
This  view  of  life  is  apparent  in  current  American 
literature,  where  writers  of  all  kinds  evoke  with 
varied  formulae  the  appearance  of  the  daemon. 
Even  God  has  been  likened  to  a  day  labourer, 
thus  casting  aside  the  concept  of  Divinity  as 
Ruler  of  the  universe  to  accommodate  theology 
to  the  newly  discovered  equality  of  mankind. 
In  this  "philosophy"  God  is  supreme  where  there 
is  no  supremacy. 

None  the  less,  this  struggle  for  wealth  is,  in  a 
sense,  superficial.     It  is,  of  itself,  only  a  mode 
—58— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 


of  expressing  the  innate  desire  for  power.  The 
will  to  power  pervades  all  effort;  each  partici- 
pant desires  to  impress  his  ideas  and  personality 
on  the  world.  The  common  war  for  riches  is 
essayed  because  it  yields  immediate  capacity, 
when  successful.  The  methods  of  success  ap- 
pear to  be  simple,  and  they  are  taught  to  the  least 
as  they  are  taught  to  the  highest.  Even  when  a 
man  superior  to  those  around  him  becomes  aware 
of  his  own  incompetence  in  this  direction  and 
turns  to  other  ideas  as  a  possible  path  to  power, 
he  retains  a  consciousness  of  the  importance  of 
the  original  means  and  reverts  to  it  at  the  first 
favourable  opportunity. 

15 

The  Corsairs 

The  fact  that  all  cannot  succeed  in  the  race  for 
riches  leads  to  important  consequences  in  demo- 
cratic societies.  It  forces  men  who  have  failed 
to  pass  the  preliminary  test  to  seek  other  means 
of  reaching  their  ends.  They  have  recourse  to 
more  intellectual  efforts,  or,  more  properly,  to 
efforts  involving  more  mental  exertion.  The 
most  intellectual  are  rarely  found  among  the 
holders  of  great  wealth,  unless  it  has  come  to 
—59— 


DEMOCRACY 


them  through  inheritance.  Instead,  the  genu- 
inely superior  intellectual  groups  seek  to  prey 
upon  the  rich,  and  this  they  achieve  through 
ideas  that  they  popularize,  or  by  plans  they  con- 
ceive that  appeal  to  the  upper  groups.  These 
plans  may  be  of  a  varied  nature.  They  may  be 
elementary,  in  that  they  cover  a  mere  philan- 
thropical  diversion,  or  they  may  be  elaborate, 
involving  the  development  of  political  and  social 
movements,  the  success  of  which  requires  great 
sums,  but  the  control  of  which  conveys  power. 
These  intellectual  groups  are  peculiar  to  dem- 
ocracy and  are  deeply  significant.  They  absorb 
great  revenues  and  a  diversity  of  minds,  but 
lead  to  the  development  of  movements  of  the 
greatest  importance  in  maintaining  social  equi- 
librium. They  are  composed  of  men  of  a  cor- 
sair spirit,  who  depend  on  their  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  its  frailties  particularly,  to  make 
their  way.  Their  utility  is  increased  by  the  na- 
ture of  the  executive  problems  facing  the  upper 
groups.  Among  these  is  that  of  securing  mass 
action,  numbers  being  of  more  importance  than 
intelligence.  It  becomes  essential  to  master 
great  groups  as  a  means  of  furthering  the  con- 
stant effort  to  increase  revenue.  This  condition 
—60— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

lends  itself  to  the  purpose  of  the  corsairs. 
They  seek  to  find  plausible  ideas  by  which  the 
masses  may  be  swayed,  of  a  character  not  re- 
pugnant to  their  rich  supporters.  They  origin- 
ate the  ideas  that  they  thus  aim  to  popularize, 
and  as  diese  are  always  of  a  moral  nature  a  cer- 
tain sanctity  attaches  to  their  labour.  This 
moral  nature  of  their  propaganda  gives  them 
great  influence  and  power  among  the  lower 
groups,  for  the  latter  look  upon  all  questions 
of  human  relation  from  a  moral  point  of  view. 
The  ordinary  man  cannot  free  himself  from 
certain  conceptions  of  nature  and  the  individual 
that  are  unknown  to  the  superior  man.  He 
views  everything  from  a  standpoint  of  right  and 
wrong.  The  sorrows  of  life,  the  mystery  of 
death,  the  destructive  outbursts  of  Nature,  are 
to  him  in  some  way  involved  with  moral  delin- 
quencies. He  feels  himself  an  immoral  unit  in 
a  moral  world.  The  order  of  the  universe  is 
ethical.  He  is  haunted  by  the  inherent  sinful- 
ness of  his  own  consciousness.  Pleasure  is  al- 
ways under  suspicion,  even  when  he  indulges  it. 
He  is,  therefore,  peculiarly  susceptible  to  propa- 
ganda claiming  a  moral  basis.  In  mass  societies 
morality  takes  the  place  of  the  "right  to  power" 
—61— 


DEMOCRACY 


in  older  associations.  An  idea  is  vital  to  the 
extent  that  it  conforms  to  mass-moral  criteria. 
The  ruling  groups,  aware  of  this,  seek  always  to 
mask  their  ideas  in  a  moral  veil. 

The  prevalence  of  such  propagandas  colours 
social  and  industrial  relations  with  moral  hues. 
Those  who  depend  on  them  possess  an  advantage 
which  disconcerts  any  opposition.  The  man  op- 
posed is  immoral;  he  resists  moral  ideas.  Even 
those  strong  enough  to  reject  these  arbitrary 
ethical  distinctions  are  swayed  to  some  extent. 
Their  aggressiveness  is  weakened,  the  real  ques- 
tion at  issue  eludes  them,  for  they  must  first 
meet  the  moral  claims  of  those  against  whom 
they  contend.  These  claims  are  supported  by 
the  moral  sense  of  the  average  man,  who  looks 
with  suspicion  on  those  who  do  not  agree  with 
him.  They  are  thrown  on  the  defensive  and  half 
the  battle  is  lost. 

In  mass  societies,  the  moral  factor  appears 
in  the  most  unexpected  places,  no  issue  being  too 
trivial  to  miss  its  stamp.  There  arises  a  fixed 
mental  attitude,  which  responds  quickly  to  any 
impulse  having  such  a  moral  basis.  The  senti- 
ment of  a  community  is  quickly  affected. 
These  moral  concepts  may  run  counter  to  all 
—62— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

the  experience  of  history  and  ethics,  as  defined 
by  philosophy  and  even  by  religion,  and  yet  still 
be  accepted  by  the  inferior  classes.  Their  nat- 
ural proneness  to  place  all  problems  in  ethical 
sub-divisions  accentuates  their  weakness.  The 
corsair  plays  upon  this,  nor  does  he  shrink  from 
attacking  religious  ethics,  when  they  bar  his  way 
to  power.  Only  those  orders  that  cherish  ideas 
beyond  him  are  proof  against  his  attack.  Com- 
monplace religion,  that  is,  religion  having  no 
basis  in  tradition,  he  ruthlessly  assails,  subordi- 
nating it  to  his  purpose  and  altering  its  morality 
to  suit  himself. 

16 

Corsair  Propaganda 

Corsair  propaganda,  with  all  its  power,  suffers 
from  one  defect:  it  lacks  consistency  and  is  there- 
fore in  constant  flux.  Its  want  of  depth  is  con- 
cealed by  profusion.  Ethical  ideals  change 
quickly,  to  be  succeeded  by  others  of  greater 
utility.  The  word  "moral"  alone  remains  con- 
stant. •     f>^r"j 

The  object   of  corsair  propaganda   is   quite 
evident.     Fundamentally,  it  aims  to  weaken  the 
will  of  the  understrata,  and  in  this  it  usually 
—63— 


DEMOCRACY 


succeeds.  Any  elementary  faculty  of  discrimi- 
nation that  may  have  existed  is  gradually  ef- 
faced, or  rendered  negligible.  This  is  often 
shown  dramatically  when  a  propaganda  is 
launched  that  opposes  one  previously  conducted 
by  the  same  proponents.  The  mass  ignores  the 
palpable  inconsistency  and  accepts  the  new 
revelation.  During  such  intervals  the  corsair 
is  particularly  vindictive,  no  mercy  being  shown 
to  backward  converts  of  a  previous  crusade. 

So  deeply  had  pacifism  affected  the  United 
States  in  the  days  before  1914  that  a  speaker 
who  advocated  rational  preparation  for  war  and 
a  military  spirit  among  the  people  was  mobbed 
at  a  prominent  university — Princeton.  Yet 
later,  none  were  more  zealous  than  these  very  en- 
thusiasts in  condemning  the  unfortunates  who 
had  taken  their  ideas  seriously,  and  stood  up  for 
them.  Even  the  classes  that  had  mixed  religion 
with  their  folly  were  not  spared,  experiencing 
all  the  opprobrium  that  follows  traitors.  Some, 
of  a  more  stubborn  type,  of  the  number  that  take 
propaganda  to  heart,  found  themselves  in  jail. 
A  merciful  dispensation,  for  it  doubtless  saved 
their  lives.  So  quickly  do  the  weak  respond  to 
—64— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

inferior  stimuli;  so  barren  are  they  of  any  ra- 
tional principle;  so  incapable  of  consistency! 
Leaves  blown  by  vagrant  winds! 

17 

Success  Religions 

The  ideal  of  success  has  called  forth  reli- 
gions especially  dedicated  to  it.  Some  of  the 
most  prosperous  of  these  base  their  doctrines  on 
a  psychological  method  of  achieving  success,  the 
struggle  of  life  being  guided  to  a  benign  issue 
by  an  attitude  of  mind.  They  even  go  beyond 
this,  finding  in  introspective  forces  factors  that 
govern  physical  processes,  with  health  resolving 
itself  into  an  affair  of  thought.  The  foundation 
of  these  beliefs  is  a  morality  of  Nature,  the  result 
of  a  force  devoid  of  "evil."  The  ills  of  the 
flesh  are  sins,  or  mental  errors,  as  is  the  failure 
to  succeed.  Such  ideas  increase  in  popularity 
as  the  pressure  of  life  rises.  They  give  an 
excuse  to  the  weak  for  their  unfortunate  condi- 
tion, and  they  satisfy  the  successful,  who  are 
proud  of  their  innate  morality,  a  personal  beati- 
tude displayed  in  palpable  gifts  of  the  spirit. 
These  peculiar  sects,  generally  of  feminine  ori- 


DEMOCRACY 


gin,  contribute  to  philosophy  an  apotheosis  of 
materialism  that  is  quite  new,  for  the  oriental 
originators  of  the  underlying  concept  viewed 
the  world  with  the  indifference  of  the  cynic, 
no  longer  attracted  by  its  charm. 


—66— 


THE  MOB  MASS 


Ill 

THE  MOB  MAN 
18 

The  Philosophy  of  Democracy 

The  will  to  power  under  democracy  is  a  will 
of  variance,  changing  with  the  nature  of  the 
obstacles  facing  it;  bending  today;  inflexible  to- 
morrow. Decision  is  prompt  and  execution  en- 
ergetic, but  a  lack  of  foresight  is  always  evident. 
It  is  the  obvious  that  is  sought;  it  is  the  immedi- 
ate that  must  be  grasped.  The  impression  is 
general  that  life  consists  of  the  situation  at 
hand;  the  future  is  not  to  be  considered,  for  its 
beneficence  may  be  depended  on.  Nor  is  per- 
manence important,  for  it  cannot  exist.  Mo- 
tion alone  is  actual,  certain  and  dependable. 
Expediency  is  supreme,  the  expediency  of  the 
moment.  A  warning  voice  is  seldom  heard  and 
when  it  speaks  it  gets  little  attention. 

Among  the  directing  actors  a  remarkable  con- 
fidence exists,  a  confidence  derived  from  the 
—69— 


DEMOCRACY 


weakness  of  the  lower  groups.  The  latter  are 
kept  in  hand  by  the  corsairs,  who,  ceaselessly 
active,  give  to  society  a  generally  negative  com- 
plexion. Intellectually,  a  state  of  lassitude  re- 
sults, concealed  behind  constant  nervous  excite- 
ment. There  is  perpetual  activity,  unsatisfied, 
nor  to  be  satisfied.  The  mass  below  sways  like 
a  vast  wave,  impelled  by  diverse  forces,  abrupt, 
changeful,  indefinite.  The  individuals  devel- 
oped in  this  strange  maze  partake  of  the  nature 
of  the  forces  among  which  they  are.  Above: 
narrow  viewed,  confident,  autocratic;  below:  ac- 
tive, excitable,  bewildered.  Stability  is  absent. 
The  impression  conveyed  is  that  of  a  concourse 
of  spirits  pursued  by  furies  that  deny  them 
rest. 

The  average  man  of  today  exists  within  a  me- 
chanical environment,  his  life  follows  a  narrower 
groove  than  he  himself  is  aware  of,  and  the  ad- 
vantages he  believes  he  enjoys  are  deterrents  to  a 
rational  expression  of  character.  He  is,  un- 
consciously, part  of  a  great  machine  and  his 
movements,  however  swift,  have  little  reason  in 
them.  The  mind  of  this  elementary  man  was 
shaped  in  the  past  by  the  quality  of  the  ideas 
pervading  his  society,  and  by  the  forces  press- 
—70— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 


ing  against  him.  His  mental  life  was  chiefly 
unconscious,  and  was  made  up  of  wishes  and 
memories  derived  from  the  reactions  between 
his  inclinations  and  his  consciousness  of  weak- 
ness. There  thus  appeared  a  form  of  poetic 
subconscious  life,  the  simple  idealization  of  de- 
sire contending  vainly  with  the  overmastering 
power  of  Fate.  This  led  to  a  colouring  of  life 
with  dream  pictures  that  assumed  distinct  forms 
in  different  societies.  They  came  to  compose 
the  spiritual  life  of  the  lower  ranks  of  men  and 
often  embraced  conceptions  of  great  strength  and 
beauty.  Genius  has  found  them  a  fruitful 
source  of  inspiration,  and  immortalized  many  of 
them  in  brilliant  works.  Such  is  the  folk-tra- 
dition of  all  peoples:  the  ideal  of  a  living  Na- 
ture, the  pensive  melancholy  of  futile  longing, 
the  occasional  accomplishment  of  the  long- 
wished-for  through  the  unexpected. 

This  body  of  dreams,  purely  passive,  was 
strongly  influenced  by  the  ideas  of  the  more  in- 
tellectual ranks  above,  but  the  concepts  of  these 
superior  minds  underwent  strange  transforma- 
tions below,  taking  on  aspects  undreamed  of  by 
their  originators.  None  the  less,  there  following 
an  ennobling  of  the  inferior  man,  and  the  de- 
—71- 


DEMOCRACY 


velopment  of  attributes  that  aided  him  to  bear 
up  against  the  antagonistic  forces  of  actuality. 
This,  in  turn,  awakened  his  respect  for  higher 
conceptions,  sensed,  if  not  understood.  There 
thus  arose  a  deference  for  art  and  an  embryonic 
appreciation  of  its  significance.  These  forces 
were  the  forming  influences  of  common  tradi- 
tion; they  founded  the  spiritual  life  of  the  ele- 
mentary man. 

In  modem  mass  communities  the  enemy  is  the 
successful  man;  the  suspect,  the  ambitious  man, 
for  he  may  succeed.  Society  has  become  an 
array  of  individuals  pervaded  by  distrust.  The 
simpler  man  of  primitive  days,  more  allied  to 
nature,  and  of  freer  impulse,  looked  on  his 
superior  more  candidly.  Antagonism  was  less, 
for  both  were  bounded  by  a  mysterious  sense  of 
danger,  the  indefinable  hostility  of  Nature. 
The  general  view  of  the  world  was  na'ive,  and 
such  intercourse  as  there  was  with  superiors  in- 
creased good  will.  But  now  the  superior  is  the 
eternal  enemy,  not  to  be  defied  as  an  individual 
but  subject  to  mass  attack.  He  is  no  longer  a 
moral  force,  for  the  old  human  relation  between 
superior  and  inferior  has  ceased.  As  the  forest 
monarch  hears  the  bay  of  the  pack,  so  the  man  of 
—72— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 


distinction  must  reckon  with  the  clamour  of  the 
throng. 

Primitive  impulses,  inborn,  take  new  forms. 
Failure  is  Fate,  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  that 
covers  all.  Weakness  is  the  inability  to  pierce 
the  gloom.  Against  it  hope  reacts  and  seeks  in 
activity  an  antidote  for  deficiency.  The  intel- 
lectual range  of  the  mob  man  never  rises  above 
the  material.  There  is  a  path  to  another  plane, 
of  this  he  is  sure,  but  of  the  latter's  character  he 
is  not  certain.  It  will  be  different,  but  mis- 
givings haunt  him ;  the  goal  beyond  is  indefinite, 
questionable,  even  immoral,  for  it  doubtless  in- 
volves culture.  This  he  looks  on  as  something 
foreign  to  life — a  sort  of  higher  dissipation. 

In  such  ranks  of  men  there  exists  no  true 
interior  life;  the  mental  process  confines  itself  to 
the  contiguous  and  transient.  Instinctive  cul- 
ture is  unknown;  the  mind  concentrates  on  ex- 
istence, which  must  be  continued  at  all  hazards. 
There  is  a  broad  contempt  for  the  past,  but  the 
future  is  full  of  hope.  Thus  hope  becomes  a 
god  unconsciously  worshipped  by  the  weak,  and 
the  strength  of  men  may  be  largely  gauged  by 
the  extent  of  their  dependence  upon  it. 

This  negation  of  mental  life  and  the  mergence 
—73— 


DEMOCRACY 


of  identity  in  the  struggle  for  existence  shows 
itself  in  a  restless  spirit,  a  nervous  contempla- 
tion of  the  world,  a  doubt-marred  longing  for 
the  future.  Vitality  becomes  mere  physical 
exertion;  the  mental  desert  takes  the  bald  form 
of  a  craving  for  excitement.  There  is  an  insist- 
ent demand  for  motion  and  noise  to  accentuate 
the  obviousness  of  the  phenomenal  world.  Be- 
yond all  else,  such  men  desire  to  be  safe  from 
the  consciousness  of  the  inner  abyss,  a  realm, 
that,  to  the  superior  man,  is  a  world  of  living 
forms,  sustaining  him  in  hours  of  trial  and  de- 
lighting him  in  moments  of  reflection. 

19 

The  Corsair  Propaganda 

The  effect  of  propaganda  on  such  human 
material  is  far-reaching  and  assumes  a  character 
hitherto  unknown.  A  feverish  state  is  produced, 
marked,  at  times,  by  an  astounding  credulity 
and  at  other  times  by  a  blatant  doubt.  Once  the 
mob  is  sufficiently  excited,  no  misrepresentation 
can  be  too  flagrant  to  escape  its  acceptance,  and 
every  correction  is  angrily  resented.  The  enun- 
ciation of  facts  and  principles  long  axiomatic 
among  rational  men  has  no  eff'ect.  Great  sacri- 
—74— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

fices  are  made  for  fallacies,  momentarily  held. 
The  mental  world  becomes  a  chaos  of  half- 
formed,  antagonistic  ideas.  It  is  upon  such 
material  that  the  corsair  works.  The  develop- 
ment of  propaganda  is  his  profession. 

But  since  a  stream  cannot  transcend  its  source, 
so  the  ceaseless  agitation  cannot  excell  the  men- 
tal level  of  those  behind  it.  This  is  set  by  the 
intelligence  of  the  ruling  groups  which  limits 
itself  to  the  perfecting  of  methods  of  produc- 
tion and  exploitation.  These  usually  take  the 
shape  of  so-called  reforms,  a  term  used  to  cover 
improvements  which  may  or  may  not  be  real. 
As  such  measures  never  get  far  beyond  the  pur- 
pose of  increasing  wealth,  and  never  show  any 
true  knowledge  of  the  mind  of  the  man  to  whom 
they  are  applied,  strange  results  ensue,  as  mys- 
terious to  their  originators  as  to  their  subjects. 
Man  indeed,  is  not  necessarily  what  a  successful 
business  leader  conceives  him  to  be.  None  the 
less,  the  pressure  is  developed  on  a  masterly 
scale,  and  any  momentary  effect  is  accepted  as 
nullifying  all  the  experience  of  time. 

The  net  result  of  all  so-called  reforms  to  date 
has  been  to  magnify  the  range  of  psychopathic 
diseases,  by  increasing  a  nerve  tension  almost  at 
—75— 


DEMOCRACY 


the  breaking  point  under  a  manufacturing  system 
keyed  to  the  highest  pitch.  For  modern  in- 
dustry has  achieved  more  in  this  direction  than 
was  ever  dreamed  of  before.  Throughout  the 
nineteenth  century  individual  efficiency  was 
forced  upward,  the  range  of  working  years  in  a 
life  steadily  diminishing  until,  as  a  publicist 
expressed  it,  the  aim  came  to  be  to  take  out  "the 
heart  of  the  steak  and  throw  the  rest  away." 
This  savage  pressure  led  to  a  rise  in  the  use  of 
stimulants,  and  the  superior  labour  grades  soon 
obtained  a  reputation  for  excess.  On  the  side  of 
the  latter,  the  pressure  was  for  shorter  hours 
and  increased  compensation.  The  policy  of  the 
masters  was  imitated  and  organization  member- 
ship was  curtailed,  while  alliances  with  associ- 
ated trades  were  formed.  These  factors,  aided 
by  the  effects  traceable  to  the  increased  applica- 
tion of  synthetic  chemistry  and  the  more  rapid 
processes  of  manufacture,  brought  about  a  con- 
dition that  favoured  aggression,  and  the  use  of 
certain  beverages  was  prohibited. 

Since  relaxation  could  no  longer  be  secured 
by  an  ancient  device,  nerve  tension  increased, 
and  is  increasing.  The  political  effects  are  al- 
ready observable. 

—76— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

20 

Two  Kinds  of  Labour 

111  any  labour  group  two  classes  are  to  be  dis- 
tinguished, the  difference  marking  itself  in 
mental  characteristics.  The  labour  of  the  great- 
est capability  is  high  strung,  fitful,  not  always 
dependable,  but  extremely  efficient  in  a  drive. 
The  other  is  more  deliberate,  steady,  but  incapa- 
ble of  the  tense  exertion  of  the  other.  That  this 
last  is  the  majority  group  need  hardly  be  stated. 
The  inferior  accepts  the  rule  forced  on  him,  and 
even  admits  that  coercion  may  be  beneficial  to 
him.  The  superior,  more  individualistic,  re- 
sents the  imposition,  and  expends  all  energy  in  a 
contest  for  power,  as  he  understands  it:  still 
greater  wages  and  still  shorter  hours.  Bitterly 
opposed  to  the  authority  that  he  looks  on  as  op- 
pressive, he  listens  to  radical  propaganda,  and 
perceives  all  employers  as  conspiring  enemies. 
The  radicals  in  labor  groups  are  always  the  more 
intelligent,  the  more  alert,  the  more  ambitious, 
and  it  is  these  with  whom  the  upper  classes  must 
finally  reckon.  The  mass,  however,  brought  un- 
der a  new  regimen,  straightway  relax  from  ef- 
forts they  cannot  maintain,  and,  for  the  time, 
—77— 


DEMOCRACY 


become  even  less  rebellious  than  they  were. 
This  subject  is  to  be  considered  at  greater  length 
in  a  subsequent  chapter:  summed  up  broadly  the 
net  result  of  the  struggle  is  a  lowering  of  re- 
sisting power  in  the  mass,  and  an  accentuation  of 
the  symptoms  of  mass  degeneracy.  Caffeine 
and  other  such  stimulants  help  in  a  degree  to 
maintain  physical  stability,  and  the  new  forms 
of  amusement  momentarily  allay  the  unrest  of 
a  class  gradually  purged  of  all  the  deeper  facul- 
ties. Of  these  amusements,  that  furnished  by 
the  moving  picture  machine  is  now  supreme. 

Tfiis  invention  has  made  it  possible  to  create 
for  the  inferior  man  an  artificial  soul ;  his  mind 
follows  without  effort  the  speeding  concourse  of 
dream  pictures.  He  readily  submits  to  this 
stimulus,  receiving  sympathetically  a  series  of 
psychological  impacts  that  powerfully  influence 
a  brain  already  negative.  The  class  of  subjects 
and  the  method  of  treatment  adopted  by  manu- 
facturers of  such  diversions  indicate  the  nature 
of  the  intellects  to  which  they  appeal.  Nothing 
of  depth  is  attempted.  Artistry  has  not  yet  been 
attained;  perhaps  its  futility  is  accepted  as  al- 
ready too  apparent.  Themes  of  extravagant  ad- 
—78— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

venture;  the  display  of  great  physical  strength; 
the  sex  lure,  grotesquely  tinselled;  the  success- 
ful man; — these  appeal  to  the  mob.  The  actor 
becomes  supreme.  He  leads  a  charmed  life,  the 
life  of  a  cherished  god.  The  identity  of  the  au- 
thor is  unimportant  and  rarely  known. 

21 

The  Intellectual  Level 

The  will  to  power  in  commonwealths  domi- 
nated by  such  influences  is  limited  in  range  by 
the  nature  of  the  element  upon  which  it  acts.  It 
lacks  clearness;  it  is  incapable  of  attaining  a 
stable  view  of  life.  Considered  socially,  it  is  in 
a  formative  stage  and  has  not  reached  the  alti- 
tude of  sound  vision.  The  really  superior  man 
is,  therefore,  at  a  fearful  disadvantage.  He 
must  curb  his  conceptions;  he  must  conceal  his 
objects.  Once  marked  as  an  individual  stand- 
ing apart  from  the  highways  of  popular  propa- 
ganda, his  position  is  precarious.  Though  made 
safe  by  the  possession  of  means,  the  supposed 
assurance  of  independence,  his  usefulness  as  a 
social  force  may  be  quite  destroyed.  On  the 
ruling  group  a  reaction  follows;  they  decline  in 
—79— 


DEMOCRACY 


moral  strength.  In  such  societies,  the  tendency- 
is  always  to  accentuate  depression.  All  social 
degrees  move  downward. 

This  state  of  affairs  is  the  source  of  great 
power  to  the  corsairs.  In  the  simpler  communi- 
ties preposterous  religions  become  instruments 
of  political  and  social  prestige.  Beyond  the  few 
faiths  that  possess  the  dignity  of  taking  them- 
selves seriously,  there  exist  a  myriad  of  beliefs 
the  doctrines  of  which  can  be  classed  only  among 
the  dreariest  superstitions — strange  anomalies  in 
a  world  of  supposed  intelligence.  Throughout 
great  democratic  areas,  where  the  corsair  has  es- 
tablished a  suzerainty  not  to  be  questioned,  a 
concourse  of  sects  co-ordinate,  voicing  barren 
ethical  codes  and  finding  targets  for  their  anath- 
emas in  the  personal  habits  of  men.  To  them, 
the  nature  of  man  is  as  inscrutable  as  the  Zohar; 
the  profound  depths  of  the  human  mind  are 
utterly  unknown.  Self-appointed  mentors,  their 
life  object  is  to  torment  their  neighbours.  Their 
fundamental  religion  may  be  described  as  the 
will  to  power  expressing  itself  as  a  mode  of  de- 
stroying joy.  These  types  admirably  illustrate 
that  doctrine  which  discovers  in  certain  repressed 
^80— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

_ 

impulses  a  stimulant  of  cruelty.  They  love  to 
inflict  and  witness  particular  kinds  of  pain. 

Politically,  their  influence  is  extensive.  They 
have  dominated  elections  during  great  crises. 
Unable  to  rise  above  the  ant  hills  from  which 
they  survey  the  world,  they  zealously  pushed 
their  melancholy  propaganda  while  their  country- 
men were  struggling  to  participate  in  world-en- 
terprise, at  the  sacrifice  of  life  and  treasure. 
Tireless  and  indefatigable,  they  climb  always  to- 
wards the  moon,  although  the  sun  is  shining. 
This  is  not  irrational  in  them,  for  they  see  only  by 
reflected  light — the  light  thrown  from  the  shad- 
ows that  people  their  imaginations.  The  nature 
of  these  phantoms  they  declare  in  the  vision  they 
proclaim,  for  they  speak  only  of  evil. 

The  level  of  intellectual  life  in  such  societies 
is  therefore  low  at  all  times;  sameness  prevails; 
there  is  aversion  to  novelty;  everywhere  is  form- 
ula. This  reacts  on  the  individual,  making 
him  afraid  of  being  thought  diff'erent  from 
others.  Anything  indicative  of  individualism  is 
dreaded.  Even  humour  takes  stereotyped  forms, 
the  adventures  of  slapstick  characters  running 
on  from  decade  to  decade,  the  amusing  point 
—81— 


DEMOCRACY 


consisting  in  the  injury  of  one  by  another. 
There  is  ridicule  of  all  natural  goodness — the 
cynicism  of  fatigue.  Yet,  oddly  enough,  the 
illusion  is  widespread  in  these  societies  that  they 
are  the  source  of  lofty  ideals,  long  neglected. 
Lack  of  spiritual  tradition  thus  masks  itself  in 
bizarre  garments;  pseudo-religious  concepts  are 
derived  from  the  most  questionable  sources; 
there  is  worship  of  a  gospel  of  success  that  sacri- 
fices all  the  deeper  phases  of  man's  nature  to  the 
vain  adulation  of  inferior  men. 

The  common  longing  is  to  be  similar.  Garb 
conforms  to  mass  conceptions;  divergence  from 
the  standard  is  resented.  The  mind  derives  its 
conclusions  from  sensing  the  conclusions  around 
it.  Individual  discrimination  almost  disap- 
pears; the  desire  is  to  be  of  the  mass;  for  num- 
bers indicate  authority  and  certitude.  In  num- 
ber there  is  strength;  the  man  who  stands  apart 
must  be  wrong.  He  is  suspected,  and  he  sus- 
pects himself.  It  is  better  to  yield  to  the  gen- 
eral pressure.  He  follows  the  mob ;  he  acts  with 
the  mob;  his  mind  is  the  mob  mind. 

To  secure  action  from  him  the  mass  must  be 
moved;  he  can  be  depended  on  to  follow.  It  is 
more  important  to  show  him  that  he  is  with  the 
—82— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

larger  number  than  to  prove  to  him  that  he  is 
right.  He  avoids  forloni  hopes;  they  excite  his 
derision.  In  the  political  world  he  desires  more 
to  be  with  the  winning  side  than  to  stand  firmly 
by  a  principle,  and  every  fresh  attempt  to  at- 
tract him  has  this  as  a  fundamental  handicap. 


83- 


ORIGINS  AND  TENDENCIES 


IV 

Origins  and  Tendencies 
22 

The  Rivalry  of  Wills 

At  the  risk  of  monotony  an  effort  must  be 
made  to  distinguish  the  elementary  impulses  that 
result  in  the  general  phenomena  of  social  strife. 
It  is  usual  to  do  this  by  outlining  the  history  of 
anterior  societies,  or  by  tracing  evolutionary  un- 
foldment  through  successive  advances  of  civiliza- 
tion. This  is  a  method  not  attempted  here,  nor 
will  it  bear  analysis.  Man  has  contact  with  the 
world  through  his  will,  and  it  is  the  purpose  he 
has  in  view  and  his  manner  of  applying  that  will 
that  are  important. 

It  is  characteristic  of  mass  societies  that  vast 
energies  must  be  applied  to  preliminary  work, 
the  forming  of  convictions  among  inferiors. 
Such  societies  are  thus  wasteful  as  efficiency 
systems.  They  are  like  poorly  designed  ma- 
chines, in  which  most  of  the  applied  power  is  lost 
—87— 


DEMOCRACY 


in  friction.  As  they  expand  the  waste  increases, 
from  causes  to  be  noted;  nevertheless,  it  must 
be  borne. 

In  any  society  two  elements  are  at  work,  one 
seeking  to  control,  the  other  to  resist.  One  is 
motion;  the  other,  inertia.  This  relation,  of 
course,  constantly  alters.  An  impulse  to  control 
wakens  in  the  inert  mass;  if  it  were  not  for  this 
the  social  status  would  remain  fixed.  The  in- 
ferior, in  fact,  always  pushes  back,  more  or  less, 
against  the  superior.  Periods  come  when  this 
pressure  is  very  powerful. 

Considered  broadly,  there  is,  in  a  given  social 
structure,  a  varying  antagonism  between  units, 
a  multiple  rivalry  of  wills.  Many  of  these 
merely  neutralize  each  other,  leading  to  their 
common  elimination.  They  become  negation. 
From  others,  of  a  more  decisive  character,  cer- 
tain tendencies  merge  in  a  given  direction,  at  last 
expressing  themselves  as  a  group  will,  since  they 
include  the  common  ideas  of  a  large  number. 
A  similar  conflict  then  follows  between  groups, 
and  more  of  the  positive  powers  are  cancelled. 
There  results,  in  the  end,  a  series  of  ideas  that 
are  the  ideas  of  a  dominant  class,  and  these  be- 
come the  governing  impulses  in  the  society  con- 
—88— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 


sidered.  This  class  may,  or  may  not,  be  homo- 
geneous; it  may,  or  may  not,  recognize  its  com- 
munity of  interest.  None  the  less,  it  does  work 
towards  a  common  end  by  reason  of  a  similarity 
of  purpose  and,  in  a  well  established  social  form, 
it  will  assume  a  shape  of  visible  unity. 

It  is  clear  that  in  the  psychological  differentia- 
tion here  described  a  vast  number  of  values  are 
infinitesimal,  and  are  quickly  eliminated.  It  is 
only  as  stronger  impulses  develop  that  fixed 
quantities  appear.  These,  by  addition,  increase 
in  potency,  to  be  either  cancelled  later  by  equally 
powerful  antagonistic  forces  or  to  find  them- 
selves, at  last,  a  part  of  the  paramount  social 
will. 

There  are,  in  any  society,  a  relatively  small 
number  who  force  their  way  against  all  opposi- 
tion, possessing  a  natural  superiority  that  noth- 
ing can  withstand.  The  nature  of  this  class  de- 
pends, to  some  extent,  on  the  culture  of  the 
society  in  which  it  acts.  Such  a  class  may  be 
military,  intellectual,  or  commercial.  That  a 
purely  labour  group  is  never  to  be  considered 
seriously  as  an  executive  force  will  be  shown 
later.  The  latter,  however,  may  become  a  pow- 
erful aid  to  a  dominant  group  at  a  vital  moment. 
—89— 


DEMOCRACY 


In  modern  societies  commercial  groups  rule, 
sometimes  alone,  but  more  often  in  union  with 
military  or  intellectual  sub-groups.  The  intel- 
lectual group  is  forever  striving  to  make  head- 
way, but  it  is  weaker  than  either  the  military  or 
the  commercial.  Aligned  with  either,  it  reaches 
utility  and  power. 

23    . 

The  Intellectual  Group 

The  so-called  intellectuals  are  an  altering 
force.  They  compose  what  may  be  even  termed 
a  transient  group,  dividing  power  with  the 
stronger  for  intervals  only.  That  group  is  for- 
ever separating  within  itself,  for  the  reason  that 
in  the  mental  world  ideas  change  rapidly,  and 
so  wills  of  the  intellectual  type  tend  to  combat 
associated  intellects.  The  holding  power  in 
society  is  not,  therefore,  the  purely  intellectual 
group,  but  is  composed  rather  of  those  of  a  more 
elementary  will-form — those  in  which  there  is  a 
driving  impulse  towards  authority  for  its  own 
sake.  Against  this  force,  in  a  normal  society, 
nothing  can  stand.  As  said,  however,  an  alli- 
ance more  or  less  tangible  always  exists  between 
—90— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

the  intellectual  group  and  those  of  pure  power, 
and  so  social  supremacy  seems  to  rest,  as  a  rule, 
in  the  hands  of  the  intellectual  group,  nor  is  the 
reason  for  this  far  to  seek. 

A  transient  intellectual  group  that  has  been 
relieved,  after  a  period  of  rivalry,  from  the  pres- 
sure of  the  innumerable  minor  contestants,  finds 
itself  facing  new  and  distinctive  units — individ- 
uals who  have  actually  towered  above  their  fel- 
lows but  who  have  had  to  conceal  their  strength 
and  stature.  Once  in  contact  with  these,  the  as- 
cending group  must  agree,  or  undertake  war  on 
a  higher  plane.  It  most  often  elects  to  assume 
a  passive  state  toward  the  forces  to  which  it  has 
become  contiguous,  and  a  positive  one  toward 
the  lower  forces  from  which  it  has  risen.  It  is 
for  this  reason  that  the  actual  superior  group  is 
usually  hidden,  standing  behind  the  transient 
intellectual  group  which  it  intimidates,  and, 
through  it,  society  as  well.  Neither  form  of 
government  or  form  of  society  can  resist  the  im- 
position of  this  will.  They,  at  best,  constitute 
only  its  executive  agencies.  The  really  superior 
group  is  thus,  essentially,  a  will  group;  that  is, 
it  includes  a  minority  in  whom  the  will  to  power 
—91— 


DEMOCRACY 


is  particularly  strong,  power  having  been  its  ob- 
ject at  all  times.  Through  the  vicissitudes  of 
life,  it  has  established  its  position,  passing  all 
the  material  tests. 

The  ascending  pressure  of  groups  of  lesser 
degree,  defective  in  physical  force,  inevitably 
takes  on  an;  intellectual  colour.  As  the  end 
product  of  a  series  of  conflicts  involving  great 
numbers,  such  a  group  shows  a  synthesis  of  ideas 
that  have  become  more  and  more  definite  through 
elimination.  In  addition  to  this,  the  final  group 
form,  as  if  aware  of  its  own  inferiority  from  the 
standpoint  of  force,  endeavours  to  compensate 
for  the  defect  by  intellectual  attrition.  Such  a 
group  becomes,  finally,  the  actual  embodiment 
of  social  intelligence.  It  is  the  social  under- 
standing, in  contradistinction  to  the  social  will. 

This  phenomenon  is  common  to  all  societies 
and  explains  the  apparent  contradiction  uni- 
versally found,  to  wit,  that  the  actual  ruling 
group  is  never  the  more  intellectual,  although 
the  intellectual  always  allies  with  it.  On  the 
appearance  of  a  new  force  group,  however,  the 
intellectual  group  may  desert  its  former  associa- 
tions, and  history  is  full  of  instances  of  the  kind. 
—92— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

24 

The  Machinery  of  Power 

The  relation  of  the  dominant  group  to  the 
lesser  forces  co-ordinating  with  it  is  not  direct. 
It  is  distinctive  of  the  will  to  power  in  its  highest 
form  that  it  views  great  masses  as  mere  instru- 
mentalities which,  directly  or  indirectly,  it  sways 
in  the  way  of  its  purpose.  These  constitute  the 
machine  with  which  it  accomplishes  its  object  in 
the  world. 

There  are  at  work,  at  all  times,  the  vast  differ- 
entiated activities  through  which  this  supremacy 
is  continued,  but  the  upper  is  not  always  aware 
of  their  specific  nature,  for  its  primary  interests 
lie  within  the  scope  of  its  own  immediate  under- 
takings. There  sometimes  come  critical  mo- 
ments when  it  finds  these  activities  vital,  and  it 
may  then  assume  direct  control  of  them,  defining 
specifically  their  quality  and  range.  As  a  gen- 
eral rule,  however,  this  is  not  done.  The  factors 
that  ordinarily  check  the  force  of  will  from  be- 
low act  as  permanent  agents  of  the  inferior  mass, 
and  are,  in  a  measure,  independent.  They,  of 
themselves,  absorb  great  units  of  social  strength. 
—93— 


DEMOCRACY 


They  furnish  avenues  through  which  ambitious 
men  satisfy  their  craving  for  power,  and  to  the 
general  enterprise  the  diverse  activities  of  the 
corsairs  lend  themselves  admirably.  In  demo- 
cratic societies  these  stabilizing  forces  are  very 
important,  and  they  become  more  so  as  the  gen- 
eral structure  grows  more  complicated. 

Yet  it  sometimes  happens  that  the  propaganda 
of  this  subordinate  class,  exerted  upon  the  mass, 
may  become  antagonistic  to  the  higher  groups. 
This  may  result  from  a  gradual  increase  and 
perfection  of  organization,  or  by  the  complete 
demoralization  of  the  mass,  and  the  conversion 
of  the  latter  into  a  state  of  uncontrolled  fanati- 
cism. In  such  an  event  its  very  weakness  may 
make  it  formidable,  for  it  has  no  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility or  proportion.  Through  the  efforts 
of  unwise  leaders  it  may  become  detached  from 
all  intellectual  and  spiritual  restraints,  ending 
in  the  tragedy  of  a  moral  frenzy.  Religion  has 
sometimes  effected  such  results,  but  it  is  also 
possible  in  a  political  state  in  which  the  ruling 
group  depends  too  much  on  inferior  methods. 
A  people  wrought  to  this  pitch  have  only  one  ob- 
ject: the  utter  extirpation  of  every  trace  of  cul- 
ture. 

—94— 


AISD  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

This  danger  of  the  mob  running  amuck  is  a 
menace  at  all  times  in  every  society,  but  it 
reaches  the  critical  point  only  at  intervals. 
Such  an  outbreak  may  result  from  a  purposeful 
agitation,  from  gradual  spiritual  degeneration, 
or  from  the  decline  of  a  once  strong  caste.  The 
phenomenon  has  appeared  at  many  times  in  his- 
tory, especially  during  the  last  days  of  Rome; 
and  in  mediaeval  times.  It  was  apparent  in 
Germany  during  the  economic  rebellions  that  are 
usually  traced,  erroneously,  to  religious  causes. 
In  England  it  displayed  itself  in  many  outbursts, 
culminating  in  the  Puritan  revolt  that  destroyed 
Charles  I.  Its  power  during  the  French  revolu- 
tionary epoch  is  too  recent  to  call  for  remark. 
But  at  no  time  has  it  ever  achieved  such  conse- 
quences as  were  involved  in  the  general  confu- 
sion that  pervaded  Asia  Minor  at  the  time  of 
the  appearance  of  Christianity.  The  remarkable 
nature  of  this  revolt  lies  in  the  mystery  sur- 
rounding it.  Its  origin  was  partly  due  to  the 
relaxation  of  Roman  authority,  but  the  cause  of 
the  specific  religious  form  it  assumed  is  un- 
known. 

—95— 


DEMOCRACY 


25 

Christianity 

When  the  tremendous  effects  of  Qiristianity 
on  western  civilization  are  considered,  its  ad- 
vent must  remain  the  greatest  enigma  of  history, 
certainly,  at  any  rate,  until  the  discovery  of  docu- 
ments that  will  furnish  light  as  to  just  what  tran- 
spired among  the  medley  of  races  then  blended 
in  Western  Asia,  which  were  to  witness  the  fall 
of  the  greatest  world  power  of  which  there  is 
any  record.  The  scriptural  accounts  are  of 
doubtful  value,  but,  as  they  have  been  trans- 
formed by  the  successive  labours  of  great  minds, 
they  have  taken  a  form  of  tender  and  affecting 
feeling  that  sways  thought  far  more  forcefully 
than  would  a  cold  recital,  harmoniously  logical. 
These  records  have  left  their  mark  upon  the 
moral  life  of  a  great  epoch  of  civilization. 

It  would  appear  from  the  accounts  of 
Josephus,  from  Roman  remains  and  from  Jew- 
ish tradition  that  it  was  a  time  of  great  social 
unrest.  That  any  religious  factor  was  present 
seems  to  have  escaped  the  Romans,  a  race  re- 
markable for  tolerance,  and  also  Josephus,  save 
—96— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

as  the  peculiar  tenets  of  the  Hebrews  entered 
the  matter.  But  the  evident  excitement  among 
the  lower  social  orders,  and  the  events  accom- 
panying the  fall  of  Jerusalem,  infer  the  reason- 
ableness of  assuming  the  presence  of  an  agent, 
or  agents,  that  strove  to  mould  the  unrest  of  the 
people  to  a  tangible  purpose.  That  spiritual 
forces  played  a  part  is  clear.  There  was  a  rise 
of  mystical  religion,  and  even  philosophy  became 
esoteric.  Philo  Judaeus  evidences  the  power  of 
mysticism  among  the  most  intellectual  Jews,  and 
the  Neo-Platonists  of  Alexandria  show  the  ten- 
dency of  the  whole  mental  world.  There  is 
sound  basis  for  believing  that  the  lower  group, 
too,  was  violently  agitated,  and  set  itself  strongly 
against  the  more  ordered  traditions  of  Greek 
philosophy. 

Not  without  some  parallel  in  modern  times, 
there  was  a  tendency  towards  mystical  segre- 
gation. "The  Contemplative  Life"  of  Philo  is 
enough  to  confirm  this.  The  existence  of  ascetic 
communities  on  a  large  scale  is  certain.  It  is  as 
the  precise  period  of  Christian  origin  is  ap- 
proached that  the  obscurity  deepens,  the  only 
records  that  can  be  found  being,  apparently, 
—97— 


DEMOCRACY 


those  embraced  by  the  Evangels.  But  that  these 
are  only  secondary  sources  is  the  practically 
unanimous  opinion  of  modern  scholarship. 

The  general  nature  of  the  time,  however,  is 
sufficiently  definite.  Old  ideas  were  collapsing, 
or  being  pushed  aside  in  a  general  chaos.  The 
will  to  power  that  had  made  Rome  a  world  mis- 
tress was  in  dissolution.  The  great  wasted  their 
strength  in  futile  contests  with  each  other,  or 
diffused  themselves  in  aesthetic  debauchery. 
The  gradual  decline  of  Roman  citizenship  re- 
sulted in  the  rise  of  a  frantic  rabble,  permeated 
by  a  desire  for  liberation  from  the  inevitable  ills 
of  life.  Toil  was  its  synonym  for  pain.  With- 
in the  confines  of  the  mighty  empire  great  forces, 
inferior  psychologically,  began  to  dream  of 
power.  The  intellectual  world  of  Alexandria 
puzzled  over  Platonic  concepts  no  longer  under- 
stood, or  diverted  itself  in  strange  speculations 
that  resulted  in  Gnosticism,  a  mode  of  thought  of 
which  so  little  remains  that  it  is  difficult  to  iden- 
tify it.  Lesser  minds  paused  before  problems 
once  boldly  faced  by  greater  spirits. 

In  the  meantime,  novel  doctrines  were  appear- 
ing among  the  lower  classes,  and  incipient  Chris- 
—98— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

tianity  pointed  a  certain  path  towards  freedom 
from  sorrow,  labour  and  death.  These  ideas 
gradually  permeated  the  social  body,  through 
secret  associations,  and  the  slave  dreamed  of  a 
tomorrow  when  all  his  ills  would  be  gone.  The 
more  intelligent  heard,  with  amazement,  of  a 
renewal  of  bodily  functions  after  death;  of  a 
religion  so  material  that  it  demanded  a  post 
mortem  rehabilitation  of  the  fleshly  envelope 
that  philosophy  had  heretofore  ignored.  Thii 
doctrine,  so  consonant  with  the  hopes  of  a  de- 
pendent class,  grew  rapidly,  but  as  more  de- 
veloped minds  were  approached,  more  spiritual 
conceptions  were  required,  and  the  ideas  of 
Plato,  added  in  the  Gospel  of  John,  probably 
appeared  to  allay  their  dissatisfaction.  Society, 
truly,  was  in  decay.  The  military  powers 
no  longer  responded  to  the  master's  will;  revo- 
lution and  counter  revolution  followed  fast. 
Beyond,  the  shadow  of  the  northern  horde,  still 
inspired  by  the  wild  theology  of  Scandinavia, 
crept  with  remorseless  certainty  towards  the 
sacred  city. 

That  something  akin  to  the  spirit  of  revolu- 
tion in  modern  times  flowed  through  the  lower 
—99— 


DEMOCRACY 


strata  of  society  is  plainly  to  be  seen.  The 
hatred  of  woman,  so  evident  among  early  Chris- 
tians, was  clearly  a  reflection  of  the  sentiment 
inspired  among  the  lowly  by  the  self -attained 
emancipation  of  the  Roman  woman  from  the 
rigorous  moral  virtues  so  long  imposed  by  a 
masculine  race.  It  was  some  time  before  the 
Egyptian  Isis  reappeared,  resuming  sway  as  the 
ever-virgin,  the  earthly  mother  of  Divinity.  Of 
the  arguments  advanced  against  the  new  doc- 
trines by  contemporaries  little  is  known.  The 
works  of  Celsus  on  the  subject  are  no  more;  of 
other  writers  we  have  only  fragments.  Evi- 
dence so  vital  to  posterity  disappeared,  destroyed 
by  over-wrought  mobs,  or  by  superior  minds  that 
were  evilly  disposed.  The  thrilling  narrative  of 
Tacitus  terminates  at  a  significant  point,  the  fall 
of  Jerusalem.  Nothing  could  confirm  more  am- 
ply the  moral  degeneration  everywhere  preva- 
lent. Even  the  charge  that  Rome  was  burned, 
not  by  Nero,  but  by  members  of  a  new  sect  is  not 
as  improbable  as  historians  aff"ect  to  believe  it — 
nay,  it  is  infinitely  more  credible  than  the  re- 
ceived version.  The  possibilities  latent  in  a 
frenzied  populace  are  clearer  today  than  they 
once  were.  The  methods  of  inspiring  clamour 
—100— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

«^__«_->— •— .— ^^— >p— — — — »— ^— — -"^'■~~'~^ 

are  better  understood,  and  more  deliberately  un- 
dertaken. If  the  man  of  genius  will  die  for  an 
idea  he  believes  to  be  true,  the  mob-man,  with 
equal  fervour,  would  destroy  the  Phidian  Jove 
because  it  declared  a  God  he  did  not  worship, 
or  bum  the  world's  libraries  if  convinced  that 
they  threatened  his  system  of  ethics. 

These  transports  were  allayed  by  the  rise  of 
superior  men  who  moulded  the  strange  doctrines 
into  forms  compatible  with  rational  power,  and 
the  history  of  modern  Europe  began. 

26 

Mob  Emotions 

Spells  of  fury  are  more  likely  to  emanate 
from  weak  bodies  than  from  strong,  for  the 
former  respond  to  excitants  more  quickly  than 
the  latter.  Weak  men  prefer  to  act  together  and, 
in  the  security  of  numbers  they  feel,  for  the 
time,  a  strength  they  do  not  possess.  Strong  men 
are  patient,  forbearing,  but  resolute  in  action. 
Excited,  the  weak  man  strikes  wildly  and  furi- 
ously, carried  away  by  the  temporary  sense  of 
power  that  pervades  him.  He  is  the  agent  and 
the  menace  of  revolution. 


-101- 


DEMOCRACY 


27 

Parvenu  Manoeuvres 

Genuine  force,  in  man,  seeks  always  to  con- 
ceal itself  or,  more  properly,  to  develop  a  moral 
authority  for  its  exercise.  The  man  of  trium- 
phant will  covers  it  with  a  spiritual  garment,  and 
assumes  the  language  and  manners  of  the  intel- 
lectual. Given  time,  then,  any  originally  pure 
force  group  will  blend  its  theory  with  the  ideals 
and  desires  of  the  intellectuals.  This  gives  the 
spiritual  strength  requisite  to  a  supremacy. 
Within  limits,  this  is  a  refining  and  stimulating 
effect. 

A  novel  dominant  group  will,  from  the  same 
nature,  attempt  to  borrow  the  motive  of  a  prior 
group,  its  personnel  evidencing  a  leaning  to- 
wards the  descendants  of  such  groups.  It  con- 
cedes the  truth  of  the  theory  of  illustrious  de- 
scent, and,  through  admixture  of  blood,  attempts 
to  blend  an  ancient  will  power  with  its  own. 
Aristocracies  thus  perpetuate  aristocracies,  even 
when  in  appearance  they  have  been  destroyed. 

—102— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

28 

The  Virtues  of  Decadence 

There  is  in  all  societies  an  apparent  effort  of 
Nature,  a  term  here  used  to  cover  breeding  and 
association,  to  produce  a  unit  type — that  is,  of 
physical  will  and  perfect  understanding,  com- 
bined in  single  personalities.  At  rare  intervals 
individuals  do  appear  who  approximate  such 
perfection,  and  at  all  times  partial  successes  are 
met  with.  On  the  whole,  however,  the  develop- 
ment of  spiritual  elements  in  the  physical  force 
man  weakens  him,  even  though  his  ideas  may 
have  expanded  and  his  conceptions  have  become 
clearer.  New  qualities  assert  themselves  to  re- 
place a  confidence  that  is  slipping  away:  sub- 
tlety, diplomacy,  craft,  cunning.  Decadent 
races  always  possess  these  qualities  in  marked 
degree. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  appearance  of  this 
tendency  indicates  the  arrival  of  a  definite  period 
in  the  history  of  a  dominant  group;  it  no  longer 
aims  exclusively  at  power,  which  is  by  now  as- 
sumed to  be  a  right  inherent,  but  turns  to  the 
possibility  of  incorporating  persistence  in  its 
—103— 


DEMOCRACY 


own  line.  There  results,  unconsciously,  a  de- 
cided effort  to  limit  the  reception  of  recruits 
from  below.  The  dominant  thus  essay  to  check 
the  rise  of  unknown  superior  men;  that  is,  men 
to  all  intents  equal  to  or,  perhaps,  more  capable 
than  themselves.  Such  men  are  continually  ap- 
pearing and  may  or  may  not  succeed  in  getting  a 
foothold  in  the  upper  group.  Failing,  they 
sometimes  menace,  or  even  destroy,  a  social 
structure,  through  acutely  conceived  ideas  and 
plans,  with  which  they  work  in  the  lower  world. 
Older  societies  often  try  to  care  for  a  part  of 
this  excess  force  through  honour  or  emolument. 
Simpler  ones,  more  confident,  ignore  it. 

This  tendency  towards  exclusion  is  significant 
always,  indicating  a  formal  assumption  of  posi- 
tion, and  challenging  definitely  those  that  strive  to 
rise.  It  works  primarily  against  the  intellectual 
groups  and  it  is  from  these,  as  a  consequence, 
that  efforts  in  rebuttal  come.  In  a  well  defined 
social  fabric  the  path  to  power  follows  specific 
lines,  and  it  becomes  the  task  of  the  dominant 
group  to  circumscribe  these  as  much  as  possible. 
Thus  the  very  technique  of  so-called  success  may 
prove  a  bar  to  genuinely  higher  types.  Such 
men  may  then  turn  their  energies  towards  a  slow 
—104— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

and  deliberate  weakening  of  the  social  structure, 
introducing  entirely  new  elements  in  the  struggle. 
They  will  seek  to  act  on  the  defective  will  groups, 
pervading  them  with  their  own  ideas,  inaugurat- 
ing tendencies,  inspiring  enthusiasms.  This  is 
the  weak  spot  in  all  societies,  and  one  from  which 
the  greatest  dangers  arise.  Revolutionary  move- 
ments follow  the  struggle,  though  the  period  of 
agitation  may  extend  over  so  great  a  time  that 
the  changes  gradually  taking  place  in  popular 
ideas  may  escape  those  whose  tenure  they 
threaten.  Whenever  a  power  group  has  become 
fixed  and  surrounded  itself  with  a  favourable  en- 
vironment it  becomes  a  target  for  such  efforts. 
Its  inherent  strength  is  thus  tested,  and  in  the 
long  run  it  either  attains  to  still  greater  power, 
or  gives  way  to  a  rising  and  more  virile  group. 


—105— 


POWER  TRANSITION:  INDUSTRI- 
ALISM, SOCIALISM  AND  SLAVERY 


Power  Transition:  Industrialism, 

Socialism  and  Slavery 

28 

The  Dawn  of  the  Modern  Age 

From  the  fall  of  Rome  to  the  beginning  of  the 
modem  epoch  Europe  ran  the  gamut  of  vicissi- 
tudes; it  was  an  era  of  thrilling  events  and  multi- 
ple contradictions.  Strength  was  apparent  on 
every  hand,  the  dominating  energy  of  conscious 
physical  power,  yet  it  was  balanced  by  a  certain 
vacillation,  a  fear  of  the  unknown.  There  was 
a  daring  that  did  not  falter  at  any  obstacle;  a 
willingness  to  risk  all  that  seemed  most  dear,  re- 
gardless of  odds;  a  faith  that  accepted  stagger- 
ing sacrifices  for  an  intangible  idea,  the  spirit  of 
the  Crusades.  Religious  certitude  received  the 
representations  of  barefoot  mendicants  at  their 
face  value  and  risked  life  and  treasure  for  a 
tradition.  It  was  the  age  of  faith  par  excellence, 
—109— 


DEMOCRACY 


as  its  successor  has  been  one  of  doubt.  But,  at 
its  end,  men  viewed  the  broken  links  that  had 
bound  them  to  it  without  regret,  roused  by  new 
promises.  There  was  the  chanting  song  of  a 
golden  voice  that  told  of  a  rosy  dawn;  mystic 
syllables  that  evoked  forms  as  fair  as  Aphrodite 
rising  from  the  mist.  What  dreams,  indeed! 
A  coming  elysium,  a  newer  earth,  where  poverty 
was  to  be  unknown!  The  brotherhood  of  man; 
a  reign  of  virtue  and  joy!  How  dismal  seemed 
the  past  in  the  light  of  that  glowing  expanse! 
What  cruelty  and  wrong  were  buried  behind 
dead  shadows!  Out  of  darkness  into  the  light, 
the  light  of  long  hid  happiness,  to  feel  the  rap- 
ture of  a  new  endeavour! 

Time  keeps  a  record  of  its  own,  and  sheds  no 
tears  over  failure,  nor  does  it  smile  at  success. 
It  indites  a  tedious  chronicle,  leaving  the  wise  to 
decipher  the  sibylline  phrases.  Still,  it  is  a 
story  strangely  similar;  a  theme  that  varies  only 
in  its  scenes.  The  plodding  worker  toils  on; 
the  ambitious  strive  for  an  unknown  prize;  the 
spirit  of  wisdom  seeks  new  terms  in  which  to  tell 
an  oft  told  tale. 


—110— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

29 

Feudalism 

The  decline  of  the  ancient  order  had  made  way 
for  another  in  Europe.  To  replace  the  fiat  of 
a  world-weary  power,  feudalism  spread  among 
new  nations.  This  system  had  its  own  pages  to 
scrawl  in  the  book  of  human  accomplishment 
and  it  filled  them  with  many  a  brilliant  line;  be- 
times, with  gloomy  pictures.  It  was  something 
not  derived  from  Roman  antecedents,  although, 
by  degrees,  the  Latin  tradition  dominated  it. 
Proceeding  deliberately,  it  built  an  order  based 
on  duties  that  were  graded  to  suit  powers  and 
capacities.  From  the  ground-slave,  a  mere  appa- 
nage of  the  soil,  to  the  favoured  lord,  each  was 
bound  by  a  principle  of  obligation.  If  the  slave 
must  submit  to  the  limitations  of  his  life,  the 
lord  must  fulfill  the  task  his  position  ordered, 
rendering  to  each  according  to  his  authority.  It 
was  a  time  of  childlike  belief,  and  of  simple  phil- 
osophy. The  problems  of  life  were  few;  family 
and  state  were  indissolubly  linked.  Neither 
could  exist  without  the  other. 

The  industrial  order  was  elementary,  yet  it 
did  not  shrink  from  high  achievement.  It  reared 
—111— 


DEMOCRACY 


vast  piles,  dedicated  to  its  kings  and  to  its  faith, 
exhausting  talent  in  their  embellishment. 
Through  centuries  it  laboured  to  complete  an  edi- 
fice, thinking  of  neither  past  nor  future,  but  only 
of  the  excellence  of  its  own  work.  Art  it  could 
not  separate  from  its  lowliest  endeavours.  The 
heritage  of  its  artisans  is  still  precious;  mute 
masterpieces  of  thoroughness  and  patience.  The 
craftsman's  life  flowed  into  his  work.  It  lived 
on,  to  verify  the  immortality  of  his  thought. 

They  laid  on  canvas  eternal  tints,  and  vivified 
images  glimpsed  in  fleeting  visions.  The  virgin 
rock  took  shape,  to  renew  the  glory  of  another 
age.  With  all  this  there  was  a  strange  simplic- 
ity, a  delighting  candour,  a  complete  human- 
ness,  something  they  scarcely  thought  was  to 
pass  with  them.  They  were  rough  in  manner, 
direct  in  speech.  The  world  was  what  it  seemed 
to  be.  They  were  men  bound  by  much  grossness 
— and  sin.  But  sin  was  inevitable  since,  before 
all  else,  they  were  men.  Of  their  sins  they  re- 
pented ;  of  their  manhood  they  were  not  ashamed. 
For  those  who  sought  a  diff'erent  life,  a  life 
apart,  they  built  great  edifices  where  the  dream- 
ers might  pursue  their  own  illusions.  The  exac- 
tions of  those  who  chose  seclusion  they  bore  pa- 
—112— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

tiently,  for  the  visions  narrated  were  a  source  of 
delight  to  them.  Even  the  inmates  could  not  cast 
off  the  fetters  of  the  natural.  It  was  an  age  of 
naivete. 

Military  power  has  always  been  supreme  as 
the  instrument  of  authority,  but  under  feudalism 
it  was  the  law  of  life.  The  world  was  a  battle- 
field and  all  men  were  brothers  in  arms.  Physi- 
cal strength  and  skill  were  universal.  To  bear 
weapons  of  the  first  class  was  a  special  privilege. 
Those  who  carried  them  were  renowned  for  deft- 
ness. Families  became  celebrated  for  their 
swordsmen.  Power  appeared  at  its  zenith  in 
this  primeval  form.  For  the  time,  the  intellect 
was  in  abeyance,  but  it  was  already  weaving  new 
methods  for  itself.  Knowledge  was  an  affair 
of  language;  wisdom,  of  quotations  from  Latin 
manuscripts.  When  Greek  returned  to  Europe, 
it  has  been  computed  that  only  three  men  under- 
stood it.  Mental  life,  stagnant  in  the  mass, 
found  expression  in  an  idealization  of  the  pal- 
pable. The  chivalry  of  a  soldier-race  satisfied 
its  longing  by  a  triple  phrase  that  embraced  a 
moral  concept  of  the  world:  "My  God,  my  Lady 
and  my  King."  Raising  woman  to  this  pedestal 
followed  the  warrior's  effort  to  fix,  in  the  pheno- 
—113— 


DEMOCRACY 


menal  world,  a  reflex  of  his  highest  thought.  It 
was  the  outer  expression  of  his  inner  mind,  but 
this  mind  was  only  an  abiding  place  of  dreams. 
In  the  divinity  he  had  created  he  beheld  all  the 
fairness  of  his  illusions.  She  became  his  soul, 
for  with  his  own  he  had  dowered  her.  He  thus 
defined  three  aspects  of  duty,  extending  from  the 
unknown  to  the  earth-lord.  It  was  a  time  of 
strange  fables  and  delightful  tales,  the  fairyland 
of  history. 

There  was  endless  war.  Men  fought  for  the 
right  to  rule  and  to  be  ruled.  King  against 
king;  lord  against  lord.  Ever  and  anon  the 
memory  of  Rome  returned  and  centuries  of  con- 
flict followed,  in  the  vain  hope  of  renewing  the 
splendour  of  the  Eternal  City.  This  led  to  the 
development  of  great  characters  and  astute 
minds,  and  they  essayed  to  use  the  instruments 
time  had  lent  them. 

The  intelligible  history  of  the  period  was  that 
of  war  and  statecraft.  The  intellectual  life  em- 
braced the  latter — and  the  fine  arts.  Stability 
came,  and  cities  were  filled  with  free  classes  that 
purveyed  to  the  great.  It  was  from  these  that 
our  modern  industrial  society  came.  By  de- 
grees, wealthy  citizens  began  to  imitate  those 
—114^ 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

they  had  once  feared.  Increasing  sources  of 
revenue,  growing  accumulations,  inspired  them 
to  muse  over  equality,  something  that  once  would 
have  been  madness. 

As  the  old  age  had  followed  war,  so  the  new 
began  to  pursue  industry.  A  natural  antag- 
onism was  implied;  each  needed  and  sought  to 
control  the  lower  groups,  the  toiling  mass.  This 
struggle  was  not  reconcilable  with  traditions  as 
they  were,  and  so  new  doctrines  began  to  be 
whispered.  A  condemning  finger  pointed  to 
those  above.  From  their  happiness,  it  was  now 
argued,  came  the  unhappiness  of  others.  All 
men  were  essentially  the  same.  The  great  had 
greater  chances,  that  was  all. 

30 

The  Process  of  Transition 

Each  declining  caste  seems  to  pass  through  a 
final  interval  of  dissipation  and  folly,  attended 
by  a  treacherous  brilliance  that  exhausts  itself 
in  a  pursuit  of  the  fatuous.  Historians  usually 
link  the  phenomenon  of  this  brilliance  with  the 
cause  of  the  disaster;  the  scheme  introduces  an 
ethical  element  that  harmonizes  with  the  fancy 
of  the  common  man.  But  such  phenomena,  of 
—115— 


DEMOCRACY 


course,  are  in  no  sense  responsible  for  what  fol- 
lows. A  social  isolation  has  been  effected,  but 
is  not  yet  perceived.  A  new  society  is  already 
living,  of  which  the  old  forms  no  part.  There 
results  a  period  of  irresponsibility,  masked  as 
apparent  security.  Energy  centres  on  enjoy- 
ment; life  has  solved  its  problem,  and  men  for- 
get the  world  in  the  illusions  of  beauty.  Never- 
theless, an  awakening  comes.  The  resources  of 
credit  become  strained.  Unwittingly,  income  is 
being  divided  with  an  unknown.  Revenue  be- 
comes a  problem;  fresh  methods  of  raising  it 
must  be  devised;  taxation  grows  into  a  burning 
question;  the  path  goes  downward.  There  is  the 
temptation  to  vie  with  the  prodigality  of  a  new 
caste,  the  real  strength  of  which  is  not  appre- 
ciated. Many  explanations  of  the  causes  lead- 
ing to  the  final  riot  of  splendour  that  accom- 
panied the  fall  of  the  French  nobility  have  been 
given.  The  simple,  yet  probable  effort  of  nomi- 
nal ruling  groups  to  surpass  the  opulence  of  an 
ascending  class  has  been  forgotten,  but  it  is  wor- 
thy of  consideration.  It  cannot  be  said  that  the 
noblesse  were  effete,  or  that  they  were  immoral, 
as  compared  to  the  mass.  Their  acts  were  more 
open,  that  was  all.  They  basked  in  a  light  that 
—116— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

revealed   every   movement,   indifferent,   noncha- 
lant, confident.     But  impoverishment  and  ruin 
were  at  the  door.     The  Revolution,  itself,  was 
only  the  orgy  of  a  mob,  incited  to  destroy  what 
new  groups  desired  to  be  rid  of.     The  applause 
of  vapid  historians  to  the  contrary  notwithstand 
ing,  there  was  nothing  great  about  it  but  its  in 
famy.     When  the  end  sought  had  been  accom 
plished   peace   was   restored   with   little   effort 
Revolution  is  a  brief  holiday  for  the  mob  man 
He  never  participates  in  the  division  that  follows 

31 

Industrialism 

The  gradual  rise  of  industrialism  in  Europe 
has  been  described  too  often  to  call  for  retelling 
the  story.  It  was  far  advanced  when  the  French 
Revolution  boldly  sought  to  overthrow  a  caste 
that  got  its  strength  out  of  the  past.  The  latter 
proved  unequal  to  the  task  of  defending  its  herit- 
age. Masters  of  industry  grasped  the  sceptre 
that  fell  from  a  trembling  hand. 

In  modern  society,  commercial  activity  has 
marked  the  chief  group  relations.  Within  this 
sphere  have  occurred  the  various  rivalries  of 
contending  wills. 

—117— 


DEMOCRACY 


In  the  earlier  history  of  the  struggle  its  form 
was  simple,  although  the  numerical  factors  were 
relatively  greater,  at  least  in  so  far  as  the  upper 
groups  were  concerned.  These  were  composed 
of  a  heterogeneous  collection  of  small  manufac- 
turers, balanced  by  a  few  whose  enterprises  rated 
in  the  first  class.  Organization  was  at  a  low 
point,  and  the  actual  worker  group  was  a  negli- 
gible participant.  The  important  elements 
fought  among  themselves  for  advantage.  There 
was  a  single  aim:  increase  of  capital.  The  im- 
provement of  machinery  was  soon  recognized 
as  an  aid  to  this  end.  It  was  not  until  later  that 
the  economic  fabric  assumed  a  tangible  outline, 
the  forerunner  of  more  acute  rivalries  among 
holding  groups.  The  period  was  one  of  narrow- 
ness; fantastic  systems  of  political  economy 
marked  it.  The  doctrine  of  freedom  was  in 
every  mouth,  and  absent  from  every  heart.  The 
great  slogan  was  "individual  liberty."  This 
consisted  in  the  right  to  buy  labour  in  the  open 
market — at  the  lowest  price.  "Freedom  of  con- 
tract" was  the  phrase  employed  to  cover  the  ne- 
cessity that  forced  an  employed  class  to  pro- 
duce at  a  minimum  rate.  To  question  this  prin- 
ciple was  immoral. 

—118— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

Between  holding  groups,  diversity  of  interest 
at  first  expressed  itself  in  plain  competition  in 
buying  and  selling,  with  the  object  of  controlling 
the  market.  But  this  rivalry  soon  stimulated 
the  improvement  of  mechanical  devices,  and  af- 
fected the  work  and  habits  of  the  labourer.  The 
detail  system  took  the  form  of  specialization  in 
machine  operation.  Facility,  in  a  general 
sense,  was  to  become  less  marked.  The  period 
of  skilled  specialism  was  at  hand.  The  appear- 
ance of  machinery  early  proved  a  cause  of  la- 
bour difficulties.  Resentment  against  the  use  of 
automatic  devices  was  showjn.  Subsequently, 
this  took  another  form.  More  efficient  worker 
groups  opposed  the  introduction  of  inferior 
grades,  called  to  replace  them  or  to  share  their 
work  with  them.  Combinations  among  skilled 
groups  voiced  this  opposition.  Stringent  regula- 
tions limited  the  membership  of  such  orders. 
Apprenticeship  privileges  were  made  more  diffi- 
cult. Aggressive  leaders  pushed  union  ideas. 
The  will  to  power  in  these  groups  manifested 
itself  in  a  tentative  outreaching  towards  author- 
ity over  automatic  production. 

Within  the  employing  groups  the  will  to  power 
aimed,   primarily,   at  two  objects:   the  mainte- 
^119— 


DEMOCRACY 


nance  of  supremacy  over  labour,  and  the  con- 
quest of  competitors  among  themselves.  Corp- 
orate growth  curtailed  intrusion  by  new  oppo- 
nents. The  governing  idea  was  extension.  It 
was  a  time  of  profound  materialism,  a  day  of 
glory  for  a  triumphant  trading  caste. 

Unionism  followed  the  rise  of  mechanical  pro- 
duction, step  by  step.  It  sought  to  balance  the 
influence  of  manufacturers  by  uniting  producing 
units.  Great  contests  occurred,  but  the  issues 
were  of  secondary  importance:  wages,  condi- 
tions, hours.  The  new  group  was  tangible,  how- 
ever, and  its  ideas  were  impelled  by  industrious 
leaders.  Associations  numerically  great  fol- 
lowed, but  they  related  to  specific  trades,  each 
independent. 

The  term  "trade"  took  on  a  variable  meaning. 
Originally  applied  to  a  particular  craft,  this  in- 
volving a  complete  process,  it  came  to  cover  a 
detail  only.  Later,  broadly  unskilled  trades  ap- 
peared, those  in  which  the  training  requisite  to 
efficiency  was  nominal,  permitting  the  rapid  edu- 
cation of  an  eff"ective  workman.  This  tendency 
grew  with  the  perfecting  of  machinery,  manu- 
facturers becoming  less  dependent  on  highly 
skilled  men. 

—120— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

32 

The  Union  Movement 

Corporate  bodies  and  individual  manufac- 
turers had,  at  first,  displayed  an  attitude  of  great 
hostility  towards  organization  among  employes. 
All  the  literature  of  the  period  confirms  this. 
It  was  held,  generally,  that  the  efficient  worker 
would  not  escape  recognition  and  reward,  and 
unions  were  charged  with  seeking  to  force  em- 
ployers to  compensate  the  inefficient  as  liberally 
as  the  efficient.  The  truth  of  this  charge  is 
partly  confirmed  by  the  history  of  unionism. 
There  have  been  groups  of  workers,  peculiarly 
favoured  by  conditions,  who  successfully  op- 
posed the  introduction  of  other  labour  units, 
regardless  of  the  necessities  of  the  latter,  main- 
taining a  wage  schedule  far  beyond  the  average 
of  other  worker  groups. 

Extension  of  enterprise  and  growth  of  mo- 
nopoly production  brought  into  being  a  new 
class  of  labour  leaders.  The  conception  of  a 
single  organization,  to  include  all  trades,  skilled 
and  unskilled,  developed.  This  caused  bitter 
differences,  but  led  to  a  partial  realization  of 
the  idoa.  In  the  United  States,  the  Knights  of 
—121— 


DEMOCRACY 


Labour  was  the  first  of  these.  It  had  for  its 
basis  the  theory  of  a  commonalty  of  interest  of 
all  trades.  Of  brief  but  furious  life,  its  ap- 
pearance was  portentous  of  the  future,  consti- 
tuting the  first  serious  effort  to  weld  the  labour 
groups  into  a  coherent  machine,  to  be  used  eco- 
nomically and  politically. 

The  growing  power  of  confederated  capital 
developed  a  more  liberal  policy  in  the  ranks  of 
labour,  and  recognition  was  accorded  to  lines 
of  employment  previously  ignored.  The  better- 
ment of  mechanical  devices  really  forced  the 
change.  The  trend  towards  labour  of  an  aver- 
age efficiency,  adaptable  to  any,  or  to  various 
trades,  was  unmistakable. 

Meanwhile,  collective  labour  associations 
passed  through  stages  of  antagonism,  not  un- 
like those  among  the  controlling  groups.  New 
dominant  personalities  came  forward,  guided 
the  more  advanced  movements,  and  took  for 
their  own  the  advantages  of  leadership.  None 
the  less,  as  each  order  is,  perforce,  limited  by 
the  very  nature  of  its  ideas  and  the  character 
of  the  material  upon  which  it  works,  none  of 
these  could  go  beyond  the  heights  of  their  own 
conceptions.  The  new  trade  unionist,  there- 
—122— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

fore,  found  himself  in  turn  threatened  by  new 
menaces.  Within  the  environment  he  had 
formed  another  force  began  to  act,  and  it  aimed 
to  aher  the  very  principle  of  united  purpose. 

33 

Socialism 

Socialism,  in  genesis,  was  nothing  less  than 
a  demand,  not  for  the  betterment  of  industrial 
conditions,  but  for  the  abrogation  of  the  prop- 
erty rights  of  the  holding  class,  and  their  trans- 
fer to  a  new  will  group,  struggling  to  master 
the  actual  toilers. 

The  new  movement  came  in  gradually,  at  first 
merely  as  a  fancy  of  what  appeared  to  be 
erratic  minds.  But  superior  men  eventually 
took  up  many  of  its  ideas  and  worked  them 
into  orderly  dogmas,  with"  a  philosophical  basis 
that  appealed  to  the  imagination.  Progress,  as 
a  principle  of  life,  lent  itself  powerfully  to  the 
new  conceptions,  for  the  rationale  of  action  as 
now  defined  seemed  to  follow  fixed  paths  that 
were  laid  down  by  the  theory  of  evolution,  but 
had  not  been  hitherto  observed.  These  were 
boldly  indicated  in  an  aggressive  propaganda. 
The  elucidation  of  such  theories  was  the  work 
—123— 


DEMOCRACY 


of  a  class  that  was  more  intellectual  than  the 
old  class  of  labour  leaders,  and,  under  its  tute- 
lage the  novel  ideals  made  headway.  The 
changing  order  of  life  and  the  passing  of  indi- 
vidualism aided  in  all  this.  The  fact  that  the 
demand  took  the  form  of  insistence  on  greater 
individual  freedom  merely  indicated  the  anti- 
thetical lines  along  which  the  common  mind  is 
always  swayed.  Socialism  demanded  labour's 
access  to  a  machine  to  be  owned  by  itself,  and 
passed  over  the  fact  that  all  that  made  such 
propaganda  plausible  was  that  ownership  of  the 
worker  had  already  passed  to  the  machine. 

34 

The  Union  Leader 

The  union  leader,  as  a  will  agent,  is  of  a 
definite  type  and  his  traits  are  readily  distin- 
guishable. A  man  of  detail,  he  is  well  versed 
in  all  questions  immediately  affecting  his  or- 
ganization, but  his  range  of  thought  is  narrow. 
His  mental  world  is  composed  of  a  combina- 
tion of  wage  and  hour  issues,  and  of  the  vari- 
ous means  by  which  labour  groups  may  be  in- 
fluenced; he  devotes  himself  to  the  study  of 
such  individuals  as  may  threaten  his  own  posi- 
—124— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

tion.  Anything  in  the  nature  of  a  general  pro- 
gram he  views  with  suspicion.  He  is  not  igno- 
rant of  his  own  limitations,  and  opposes  any  step 
that  may  unduly  extend  the  field  of  labour  ac- 
tivities, since  this  would  involve  the  rise  of  a 
different  leader-type,  of  more  intelligence,  and 
perhaps  of  more  character.  The  propaganda 
for  a  general  mergence  of  all  organizations  into 
one,  to  be  controlled  by  a  single  group,  fails  to 
receive  his  approbation.  Political  action  by 
labour  he  likewise  distrusts,  for  it  implies  other 
chiefs,  more  ambitious  men,  greater  deftness  and 
insight.  Yet  such  a  trend  persists,  fostered  by 
determined  pressure  from  Socialist  factions. 
These  aim  to  unite  the  labour  forces  into  a  single 
political  body,  specifically  opposed  to  those 
holding  groups  that  now  own  and  control  the 
social  machinery. 

The  threat  has  engendered  a  disposition  to 
deal  more  equitably  with  labour  as  a  whole.  No 
tendency  is  more  remarkable,  at  present,  than 
that  of  the  employing  caste  to  increase  the  com- 
fort and  well-being  of  the  employed,  wherever 
it  is  economically  possible.  But  the  dark 
records  of  the  past  are  often  stumbling  blocks 
in  the  way  of  creating  a  fraternal  feeling,  for 
—125— 


DEMOCRACY 


the  lower  find  it  difficult  to  believe  that  such 
ofTerings  are  rendered  in  good  faith.  The  ag- 
gressive efforts  of  Socialists  towards  the  organi- 
zation of  a  universal  body,  with  economic  and 
political  aims,  never  relent,  regardless  of  the 
opposition  of  conservative  leaders,  but  even  this 
tendency  is  limited  by  the  quality  of  the  per- 
sonnel it  is  sought  to  control.  In  the  building 
up  of  the  industrial  order,  and  of  the  social 
forces  accompanying  it,  the  character  of  the  in- 
dividual has  been  affected.  This  psychological 
factor  is  generally  ignored,  but  throughout  the 
modern  era  it  has  played  its  part.  A  pro- 
nounced trend  towards  personal  lassitude  has 
brought  about  a  lowering  of  the  resisting  power 
of  the  masses. 

The  forces  which  thus  tend  to  weaken  the  will 
of  the  lower  classes  become  of  transcendent  im- 
portance, and  their  activity  is  stimulated  to  an 
extraordinary  degree  by  artificial  means. 
Radical  energy  finds  itself  opposed  by  many 
unlooked  for  agents,  and  meets  effective  coun- 
ter-strokes in  unexpected  quarters.  There  are, 
too,  certain  effects  on  the  general  mind  from 
the  very  orderliness  of  everyday  life  that  in- 
—126— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

duce  habits  of  dependence  not  easily  shaken, 
however  detrimental  they  may  be  to  individual- 
ism. The  ordinary  man  seeks  always  the  path 
of  least  resistance,  having  an  inborn  aversion  to 
initiative. 

35 

Women  in  Industry 

The  increased  use  of  women,  both  econom- 
ically and  politically,  has  further  reduced  the 
strength  of  the  lower  classes.  The  improvement 
of  machinery,  while  itself  the  work  of  trained 
minds  and  hands,  has,  in  many  industries,  sim- 
plified production  to  an  astonishing  degree. 
The  object  of  so-called  labour  saving  machin- 
ery is  to  effect  one  of  two  objects:  either  to  en- 
large output  with  fewer  employes,  or  to  enable 
the  utilization  of  greater  numbers  of  the  un- 
skilled. The  last  is  the  more  important,  since 
it  acts  as  a  deteriorating  force  on  labour,  for 
the  reason  that  it  dispenses  with  much  of  the 
training  once  required.  Thus  the  way  is  made 
easy  for  women,  but  harder  for  men. 

That  the  increased  employment  of  women  has 
resulted  from  a  general  increase  of  mentality 
—127— 


DEMOCRACY 


among  them,  following  superficial  education,  is 
one  of  the  popular  illusions  of  the  age.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  has  been  brought  about  simply 
because  the  mechanism  of  production  has  been 
lifted  to  a  point  of  effectiveness  where  the  ele- 
mentary qualifications  of  the  female  may  be 
profitably  utilized.  In  the  cotton  industry, 
which  utilizes  some  of  the  most  ingenious  and 
complicated  devices  ever  devised  by  mechanical 
genius,  women  have  long  been  employed. 
Cotton-working  machines,  through  extensive  ex- 
perimentation and  test,  have  been  brought  to 
such  a  degree  of  perfection  that  they  need  only 
the  most  nominal  oversight.  Women  can  thus 
manage  them.  But  the  entry  of  women  has 
weakened  the  labour  group  and  increased  the 
difficulties  of  those  who  seek  to  organize  it  for 
aggressive  warfare.  The  ability  of  inferior  so- 
cial elements  to  operate  machinery  has  reduced 
the  general  level  of  the  stronger  section  of  the 
labour  group. 

The  psychological  tendency  is  always  down- 
ward, and  the  lower  groups  show  less  and  less 
resistance    to    pressure;    accepting    readily    all 
novel    impositions.     On    the    other    hand,    the 
—128— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

I 
\ 
vigour  of  the  holding  group  augments,  due  to 

the  reduced  morale  of  the  opposition,  and  the 
increasing  scope  of  industrial  development. 
The  ideal  of  this  class  is  the  perfecting  of  an 
industrial  process  so  complete  in  detail  and 
method  that  the  quality  of  the  operating  labour 
units  will  not  sensibly  vary.  This  is  the  "aver- 
age efficiency"  so  often  alluded  to,  and  which 
is  sought  by  the  superior  groups  as  eagerly  as 
it  is  looked  forward  to  by  some  of  the  radical 
labour  advocates.  In  such  a  field  the  extraor- 
dinary man  would  not  be  wanted,  and  even 
the  ordinarily  exceptional  man  would  be  out 
of  place.  This  position,  implying  that  civiliza- 
tion will  rise  as  man  descends,  forms  an  inter- 
esting commentary  on  the  spirit  of  the  age. 

Labour  was  not  ignorant  of  the  danger  of  ad- 
mitting woman  as  an  associate,  but  feminine 
propaganda  could  not  be  resisted.  This  de- 
manded the  right  to  servitude  as  a  privilege  ac- 
cruing from  her  "rise,"  and  the  "increase"  in  her 
intelligence,  and  as  a  reasonable  compensation 
for  the  long  period  of  "subjection"  she  had  been 
unjustly  forced  to  endure.  These  pleas  iden- 
tify the  object  that  is  really  sought,  i.  e.,  sex 
—129— 


DEMOCRACY 


liberty,  for  towards  this  woman  ever  drives. 
Within  the  labour  program  there  were  tenets 
that  furthered  her  cause.  With  the  intention  of 
strengthening  certain  tlieoretical  principles, 
forming  part  of  the  spiritual  propaganda  of 
labour,  her  right  to  work  had  been  allowed,  and 
her  equality  with  the  male  affirmed. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  significant  of  a  certain  natu- 
ral insight  on  the  part  of  those   who   conduct 
the  war  of  the  more  aggressive  branches  of  the 
labour   movement   that    they   have    viewed    sex 
equality  with  suspicion  at  all  times,  and  that 
their  endorsement  of  the  extension  of  the  suf- 
frage was  always  weak.     This  was  and  is  doubt- 
less due  to  the  nature  of  the  sex  relation  among 
the  lower  groups  of  workers.     It  is  more  can- 
did than   above;   there   is   an   absence   of   that 
finesse  which  appeals  to  the  superior  so  power- 
fully.    Among  the  lower  classes,  too,  the  moral 
qualities  of  the  weaker  sex  are  more  accurately 
gauged.     In  spite  of  this  labour  has  been  forced 
to  accede  to  the  aggressiveness  of  the  feminine 
through   the   necessity   of  standing  by   its   own 
abstract    principles.     The    activity    of   the   cor- 
sairs increases  the  dilemma  of  the  male  work- 
ers, for  these  corsairs  always  push  woman  for- 
—130— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

ward  as  a  weakening  agent  of  the  first  magni- 
tude. 

36 

A   Glance  at  History 

To  balance  the  general  argument,  and  to  un- 
derstand the  particular  way  in  which  changes 
have  occured  in  our  society,  a  running  historical 
survey  of  will-tendencies  in  the  United  States 
must  be  undertaken.  Economic  and  political 
development  in  this  country  has  been  unique  in 
modern  times.  Sequestered  from  the  rest  of 
the  world,  members  of  all  races  here  found 
themselves  facing  a  free  domain  of  unknown 
richness  and  apparently  of  boundless  range.  A 
period  of  pure  agrarianism  was  quickly  passed 
through.  Manufacturers  appeared  to  supply  in- 
creasing needs;  discoveries  of  iron  and  coal 
furnished  materials.  Labour  was  then  a  scarce 
commodity.  After  awhile  railroads  and  steam- 
boats opened  new  areas  and  broadened  the  ave- 
nues of  production.  The  extent  of  territory  im- 
plied the  supremacy  of  steam  highways  and 
their  associated  trades.  The  consumption  of 
rails  and  supplies,  and  tlie  development  of  loco- 
motives and  rolling  stock,  confirmed  it.  Other 
—131— 


DEMOCRACY 


branches  responded  to  the  stimulus.  The  manu- 
facturing system  of  the  North  soon  compared 
favourably  with  that  of  Great  Britain. 

There  was  an  insistent  demand  for  labour,  but 
only  one  source  from  which  to  obtain  it — 
Europe.  Immigration  was  stimulated.  There 
followed  a  steady  influx  of  skilled  and  unskilled 
labour,  joined  to  agriculturists  who  flowed  west- 
ward, to  become  new  consumers  of  fabricated 
products.  The  growth  of  urban  population  fol- 
lowed the  general  trend.  Increasing  factory 
production  compelled  it.  Cities  began  to  as- 
sume great  magnitude.  The  atmosphere  every- 
where was  that  of  confidence  and  ambition. 

Interest  in  political  questions  was  marked. 
Apart  from  the  ever-growing  antagonism  between 
the  free  labour  system  of  the  North  and  that  of 
slavery  in  the  South,  the  tariff"  forged  to  the  front 
as  a  vital  issue.  The  new  manufacturing  groups 
sought  protection  from  cheaper  markets,  and  a 
means  of  assuring  profits  in  the  future.  The 
South,  with  agriculture  as  its  source  of  revenue, 
contended  consistently  against  a  tax  that  was 
making  the  North  dangerously  rich  and  power- 
ful. With  it  were  allied  the  shipping  interests 
—132— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

of  New  York,  and  the  fast  disappearing  rem- 
nants of  a  formerly  active  maritime  group. 

The  influx  of  immigrants  gave  to  the  voting 
population  a  changing  personnel,  and  called  for 
frequent  modifications  to  cover  a  varying  elec- 
torate. The  cities  became  renowned  for  politi- 
cal groups  that  favoured  liberal  treatment  in  the 
matter  of  franchise  privileges;  newly  incorpo- 
rated nationalities  fell  into  alignment  with  the 
party  that  treated  them  best.  Election  machin- 
ery was  crude;  its  control  meant  power.  The 
expanding  cities  called  for  improvements  con- 
formable to  their  growth.  Considered  rela- 
tively, municipal  contracts  were  huge.  They  be- 
came the  support  of  cliques  that  wielded  a  de- 
cisive influence  on  national  issues,  through  their 
control  of  the  concentrated  populations  of  the 
big  cities. 

This  condition  led  to  diff"erences  that  often  ap- 
proximated war  among  city  partisans.  An  elec- 
tion was  a  serious  matter.  Thuggery  was  prev- 
alent, for  individualism  was  elementary  and  ex- 
treme. Public  feeling  was  always  high.  Politi- 
cal corruption  was  a  by-word.  It  was,  however, 
a  state  that  was  not  to  last.  Industrial  depres- 
—133— 


DEMOCRACY 


sion  brought  labour  to  the  fore,  with  new  issues 
to  puzzle  the  politicians.  The  system  of  produc- 
tion expanded  faster  than  its  markets.  Eras  of 
speculation  increased  the  confusion.  Great 
strikes  occurred.  The  railroads  experienced 
conflicts  partaking  of  the  magnitude  of  civil  war; 
the  destruction  of  property  was  enormous,  and 
life  was  not  spared.  Vast  confederated  bodies 
among  the  worker  groups  were  formed.  Labour 
began  to  break  away  from  the  idea  of  depending 
on  the  efficacy  of  local  wage  agreements,  and 
attempted  to  enforce  its  will  by  a  refusal  to  oper- 
ate entire  industries. 

It  was  significant  of  the  period  outlined  that 
Socialism  had  not  yet  appeared  in  any  form. 
There  are  records  of  idealistic  colonies  having  a 
communistic  basis,  but  a  parallel  to  Socialism 
as  a  class  issue  is  not  to  be  found.  It  was  not 
until  a  later  date  that  an  effort  was  made  to  form 
a  branch  of  the  Internationale,  and  it  met  with 
no  encouragement.  The  means  employed  by  la- 
bour to  gain  its  ends  were  simpler  and  more  di- 
rect than  any  that  Socialism  could  offer,  and  had 
little  basis  in  reason:  the  boycott,  violence,  se- 
cret groups  given  to  a  policy  of  terror  and  re- 
venge. The  Mollie  Maguires  distinguished 
—134— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

themselves  in  the  coal  fields  by  a  reign  of  mur- 
der. 

So  implicit  was  confidence  in  the  abstract 
right  of  the  citizen  that  all  efforts  to  spread  the 
class  idea,  so  strong  abroad,  were  futile.  The 
American  identified  this  idea  with  a  recognition 
of  aristocracy,  of  social  elements  distinguished 
by  birth,  and  refused  to  admit  its  tenability  un- 
der the  conditions  about  him.  It  is  only  in  the 
last  decade  that  the  principle  has  made  actual 
progress  in  the  United  States,  extraordinarily 
stimulated  by  the  recent  war. 

In  the  meanwhile,  powerful  forces  were  effect- 
ing changes.  The  Civil  War  had  passed,  leav- 
ing demoralization  in  its  wake.  One  section  of 
the  country  had  been  practically  eliminated  as  a 
political  factor,  even  suffering  the  ills  of  a  con- 
quered province.  In  the  cities,  political  organi- 
zations had  become  compact  bodies,  and  the 
tenseness  of  feeling  on  general  questions  assured 
each  one  a  large  following,  irrevocably  allied. 
Political  affiliation  was  maintained  with  the  ten- 
acity of  religious  conviction,  and  was  deemed  as 
sacred.  Behind  this,  astute  groups  had  inaugu- 
rated a  policy  of  public  exploitation  that  became 
a  national  reproach.  The  principles  so  long 
—135— 


DEMOCRACY 


potent  during  the  pre-war  period  disappeared,  or 
became  secondary.  Instead,  plunder  distin- 
guished all  city  campaigns.  In  many  places  it 
was  openly  and  defiantly  conducted.  On  the 
other  hand,  new  commercial  groups  had  followed 
the  war,  based  on  the  vast  profits  derived  from 
it.     These  became  a  conservative  force. 

37 

Stages  of  Power 

Broadly,  the  stages  of  power  development  in 
the  United  States  clearly  class  themselves. 

During,  and  immediately  after  the  Revolution, 
the  upper  group  was  an  alliance  of  aristocrats 
and  merchants,  including  with  the  latter  a  con- 
siderable shipping  element.  This  alliance  was 
succeeded  by  a  rapidly  evolved  manufacturing 
group,  lacking  in  organization  but  united  with 
reference  to  a  general  labour  policy.  In  it,  a 
few  of  the  older  aristocrats  and  merchants  held 
on,  but  they  were  disappearing  rapidly.  The 
Civil  War  founded  a  mercantile  class  of  vastly 
greater  wealth,  that  was  to  consummate  a  con- 
centration of  industry  entirely  unforeseen. 

The  franchise  followed  a  rational  unfoldment. 
The  aggressive  partisan  of  pre-war  days  main- 
—136— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

tained  his  position,  but  the  pressure  of  independ- 
ent units  began  to  be  feh.  The  after-war  de- 
moralization was  marked  by  unusual  political 
corruption.  The  national  stakes  had  expanded 
in  importance.  One  or  two  states  insured  suc- 
cess to  the  party  carrying  them.  On  the  other 
hand,  a  growing  tension  in  the  struggle  for  politi- 
cal supremacy  led  to  strenuous  election  methods. 
The  voter  was  watched,  challenged;  even  at- 
tacked physically.  A  record  of  his  preference 
was  kept.  It  was  a  serious  matter  to  him,  since 
his  livelihood  might  be  involved  after  the  ballot- 
ing. The  ward  politician  was  supreme.  He 
had  made  his  trade  a  profession. 

Political  reform  then  grew  into  an  issue. 
The  secret  ballot  was  adopted.  This  move  was 
superficially  an  improvement,  but  it  indicated 
a  breaking  down  of  primitive  self-reliance.  Re- 
gardless of  the  order  and  decency  following  it, 
the  fact  remains  that  individual  independence 
had  collapsed.  To  balance  this,  the  political 
sentiment  of  a  considerable  portion  of  the  popu- 
lation became  an  unknown  quantity. 

The    abrupt    rise    of    monopoly    production 
placed  in  power  a  group  that  transcended  all 
others,  and  that  challenged  even  national  author- 
—137— 


DEMOCRACY 


ity.  Court  decrees  appeared  always  to  confirm 
its  eminence.  The  average  man  looked  on  it 
as  practically  unassailable  on  any  question  in- 
volving law.  The  period  was  one  of  merciless 
commercial  war  on  a  colossal  scale,  attended  by 
an  utter  disregard  of  private  rights.  Many  an- 
cient allies  were  dropped,  or  ruined  irrevocably. 
The  political  reformers  who  arose  in  the  cities 
during  this  period  are  worthy  of  attention,  for 
they  throw  an  interesting  sidelight  on  the  subject 
of  power.  Primarily,  they  voiced  a  desire  on 
the  part  of  conservative  power  groups  to  wrest 
control  of  local  power  from  the  class  that  had 
built  up  political  machines.  The  reformers 
were  always  narrow  in  ideas,  economy  in  munici- 
pal or  state  administration  being  their  one  watch- 
word. This  is  a  negative  virtue,  politically,  and 
never  touches  the  popular  imagination.  The 
worker  groups,  allied  with  municipal  ring  lead- 
ers, opposed  any  curtailment  of  public  expendi- 
ture. Worse,  though  disguised  as  reform,  these 
antagonisms  were  often  nothing  more  than  strug- 
gles between  rival  corporate  interests,  bent  on 
controlling  the  vast  contracts  involved  in  city 
disbursements.  This  war,  from  small  begin- 
nings, grew  to  an  extent  that  developed  more 
—138— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

, [ • 

insidious  objects,  and  political  machines  found 
themselves  faced  by  a  reformer  of  a  new  class, 
the  moral  corsair.  New  ethical  concepts  were 
instilled  into  the  minds  of  the  lower  classes. 
It  was  a  policy  that  succeeded  beyond  all  hope. 
Great  cities  lost  their  independence,  and  submit- 
ted tamely  to  the  domination  of  rural  sections 
where  the  moral  corsair  is  lord.  The  power  of 
the  ring  leader  was  broken  and,  at  a  stroke,  the 
psychological  status  of  the  mob  man  lowered. 

Electoral  secrecy  led  to  many  apparent  im- 
provements. A  more  intellectual  type  came 
forward  and  often  succeeded  in  wresting  a  mu- 
nicipal administration  from  former  incumbents. 
As  a  rule,  however,  the  pure  reformer  had  a  brief 
life,  politically.  There  was  in  him  a  lack  of 
sympathetic  feeling  towards  the  lower,  a  feeling 
quickly  sensed.  His  class  also  included  num- 
bers who,  forced  out  of  old  occupations  by  eco- 
nomic changes,  looked  to  politics  for  a  more 
stable  career.  Simultaneously,  these  dubious 
reformers  worked  for  legislation  favourable  to 
the  interests  with  which  they  had  been  allied. 

The  gradual  organization  of  industry,  and  its 
rise  to  stability,  simplified  issues.     The  stronger 
groups  modified  their  opposition  to  the  national 
—139— 


DEMOCRACY 


administration,  and  effected  a  moral  alliance 
with  it.  This  led  to  important  changes  in  the 
laws,  and  the  recognition  of  monopoly  produc- 
tion. Events  aided  in  the  confirmation  of  this 
new  status,  the  upper  groups  becoming  masters 
of  general  authority.  Intermediate  parties,  con- 
servatively radical,  received  no  encouragement 
from  the  public.  Efforts  to  form  them  always 
failed.  The  great  mass  organizations  of  old 
held  their  own;  success  became  certain  to  one 
or  the  other.  To  the  average  man,  the  purpose 
of  elections  is  always  simply  to  win.  He  is 
bound  by  his  adhesion  to  the  religion  of  success. 
The  independent,  in  America,  has  always  been  an 
outlaw. 

38 

The  Corsair  Triumphs 

Corsair  propaganda  has  displayed,  in  nothing 
more  than  in  this,  its  grasp  of  public  character. 
Specific  reforms  have  been  wisely  left  to  special 
bodies,  and  propaganda  has  confined  itself  to  the 
ethical  cloud  thrown  over  each,  and  to  the  secret 
terror  inspired  among  public  representatives  de- 
void of  character.  The  result  has  been  a  final 
supremacy,  politically,  the  new  element  replac- 
—140— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

ing  the  old  ring  chiefs,  but  more  subtly,  more 
efficiently  and  with  vastly  greater  resources.  Is- 
sues become  secondary  to  the  moral  guidance  of 
the  mass-man.  He  naturally  approves  policies 
that  accord  with  ethical  teachings  that  he  ap- 
proves. 

The  decay  in  the  significance  of  the  ballot 
made  possible  the  success  of  women  in  their  de- 
mand for  it.  Just  as  the  development  of  ma- 
chine industry  made  their  employment  inevita- 
ble, so  the  conversion  of  the  franchise  into  a  pas- 
sive force  assured  their  acquirement  of  it.  The 
last  amusing  struggle  of  a  few  bewildered  men  to 
check  their  success  merely  showed  a  lack  of  ap- 
preciation of  the  changes  that  had  come  to  pass. 
The  brilliant  intrigue  of  the  sex  was  evidence 
of  their  inborn  capacity  to  excel  at  deception. 

39 

A  Conflict  of  Two  Wills 

Returning,  after  this  digression,  to  the  main 
theme,  it  is  clear  that  unionism,  in  itself,  pre- 
sents no  grave  problem  to  the  master  groups. 
The  time  of  deep  feeling  against  it  is  in  the  past, 
when  the  industrial  order  was  elementary.  The 
destruction  of  older  forms,  the  downfall  of  an 
—141— 


DEMOCRACY 


ancient  caste,  had  left  the  worker  groups  a  legiti- 
mate prey  to  the  conquerors,  and  they  were  ex- 
ploited without  mercy.  The  overthrow  of  feud- 
alism followed  by  the  vain  illusions  of  equality, 
brought  a  term  of  darkness  so  far  as  labour  was 
concerned,  from  which  it  is  only  now  emerging. 
The  rise  of  machine  civilization  has  brought  new 
conditions  and  a  more  liberal  policy,  the  result 
of  the  activity  of  strong  will  determinants  in  the 
lower  mass.  Trades-Unionism  has  come,  at  last, 
to  be  looked  on  as  something  inevitable,  and 
though  harassed  at  times  by  wage  demands,  the 
upper  class  finds  in  it  a  defence  against  the  more 
insidious  menace  of  Socialism  behind  it. 

The  apparent  intention  of  labour  groups  to 
strive  for  control  of  the  operation  of  industrial 
machinery  brings  into  relief  an  ancient  antago- 
nism: the  will  to  exist  as  opposed  to  the  will  to 
create.  The  perfection  of  modern  production 
methods  has,  it  would  seem,  made  possible  the 
maintenance  of  life  with  little  effort.  A  major- 
ity of  the  details  of  living  are  performed  by  auto- 
matic processes,  easily  operated.  By  concen- 
trating energy  on  these,  eliminating  the  profits 
of  the  dominant  group,  destroying  individual 
luxury,  and  diverting  the  proceeds  to  the  more 
—142-^ 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

■! 

nominal  demands  of  the  ordinary  man,  it  is 
conceived  that  a  general  average  of  comfort 
may  be  attained  that  will  definitely  solve  the 
question  of  existence  for  tlie  mass  man. 

Scientific  socialism  claims  a  basis  in  the  doc- 
trine of  evolution,  and  is  taught  as  the  natural 
symptom  of  an  "upward"  tendency.  Man  arose 
from  the  animal,  and,  after  various  stages,  at- 
tained to  civilization.  His  forward  movements 
have  always  paralleled  industrial  developments, 
and  improvements  in  the  latter  field  have  actually 
defined  his  character  and  ideas  at  each  stage, 
including  in  the  term  "ideas"  all  cultural  ele- 
ments, art,  science,  and  philosophy.  This  is 
"the  materialistic  conception  of  history,"  and  it 
is  accompanied  by  another  fundamental  princi- 
ple: "the  historic  mission  of  the  working  class." 
This  "mission"  lies  in  the  ultimate  seizure  of  all 
the  means  of  production,  capital,  tools  and  land, 
to  be  operated  by,  and  in  the  interest  of,  the 
working  class.  Since  this  event  will  mean  the 
disappearance  of  all  non-working  groups,  so- 
ciety will  consist  of  but  one  class.  In  other 
words,  the  mission  of  the  working  class  is  to 
abolish  class  society. 

This  is  the  general  foundation  of  Socialism. 
—143— 


DEMOCRACY 


It  has  enlisted  many  brilliant  men,  and  a  propa- 
ganda has  been  sedulously  pushed  in  all  civilized 
countries  since  the  labours  and  enunciations  of 
Karl  Marx,  Friederich  Engels,  and  Ferdinand 
Lasselles  launched  the  formal  movement. 
These  men  taught  that  in  present  societies  the 
ruling  system  is  capitalism,  a  term  expressing  a 
formula  of  exploitation,  and  that  the  worker 
labours  only  partly  for  himself,  a  portion — and 
usually  a  major  portion — of  his  product  being 
retained  by  the  employer.  This  unearned  incre- 
ment they  called  surplus  value;  for  it,  they  said, 
the  artisan  receives  nothing.  It  is  the  use  or 
sale  of  this  portion  that  yields  profit,  and  the 
problem  that  faces  the  capitalist  is  how  to  se- 
cure that  profit.  The  worker,  getting  only  a  part 
of  his  own  output,  obviously  cannot  buy  back 
the  excess  in  his  employer's  hands;  as  a  conse- 
quence, it  must  be  disposed  of  in  foreign  mar- 
kets. There  results  a  constant  pressure  for  such 
markets  among  rival  capitalist  groups,  and  as 
the  productive  power  of  the  modem  state  con- 
stantly augments,  the  problem  becomes  ever  more 
acute,  nay,  it  is  one  of  life  or  death.  It  is  be- 
lieved that  the  pressure  will  finally  lead  to  a 
cataclysm,  due  to  the  impossibility  of  exchang- 
— 144e— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

ing  a  mountain  of  surplus  in  a  world  incapable 
of  paying  for  it.  There  must,  then,  come  a 
crisis  of  such  proportions  that  the  capitalist  or- 
der will  collapse  and  the  "hour  of  the  class  con- 
scious worker  strike." 

This  critical  point,  always  looked  forward  to, 
is  to  find  the  producer  organized  and  ready,  but, 
more  important,  efficient  as  well,  since  the  capi- 
talist's own  machine  will  have  converted  him  into 
a  capable  engineer.  The  historic  mission  of  the 
producing  class  is  then,  to  be  effected:  "the  ex- 
propriated expropriating  the  expropriators." 

Socialism  offers  the  classical  example  of  the 
application  of  the  theory  of  evolution  to  soci- 
ology. Everything  moves  with  mechanical  pre- 
cision; the  ultimate  socialistic  society  is  as  in- 
evitable as  an  eclipse.  Indeed,  so  great  has 
been  the  confidence  on  this  point  that  many  ad- 
herents have  questioned  the  utility  of  an  active 
Socialist  movement,  "Socialism  being  inevita- 
ble," anyway.  However  this  may  be,  the  theory 
is  mechanical  and  for  that  reason  open  to  sus- 
picion, for  human  relations  have  never  been  de- 
termined by  anything  approximating  the  regu- 
larity of  machinery. 

—145— 


DEMOCRACY 


40 

Delusions  of  Socialism 

That  evolution  is  a  "fixed"  law  of  nature  and 
that  man  is  pushed  forward  by  it  with  the  relent- 
less certainty  of  fate,  however  engaging  as  a 
theory,  remains  a  mere  theory  none  the  less. 
The  peculiar  property  of  this  "law"  is  that  it  in- 
volves movement  "upward"  and  "forward." 
Societies,  therefore,  are  said  to  all  tend  to  im- 
prove; the  knowledge  of  each  age  transcends 
that  of  the  preceding,  while  the  condition  of 
humanity  grows  steadily  better. 

Within  historical  times  there  has  always  been 
civilization  in  some  form,  and  in  each  age  great 
achievements  have  been  wrought  by  men  of 
genius.  The  era  of  universal  savagery  is  hypo- 
thetical. The  civilization  of  modem  times  is 
distinguished  by  its  vast  additions  to  scientific 
knowledge  and  by  the  superiority  of  its  mechan- 
ical development;  it  is  the  latter,  particularly, 
that  the  popular  mind  identifies  as  "progress." 
The  great  inventions,  such  as  relate  to  transpor- 
tation, the  transmission  of  ideas,  and  automatic 
production,  are  signs  of  "progress"  to  the  multi- 
tude, but,  however  wonderful  they  may  be,  they 
—146— 


AISD  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

constitute  nothing  more  than  instrumentalities 
developed  during  the  perpetual  combat  of  wills, 
and  may  conceivably  be  dispensed  with  without 
"retrogression"  in  future  phases  of  that  conflict. 

Certain  it  is  that  the  social  will  to  power  as  a 
collective  impulse  emanating  from  a  master 
group  finds  in  this  very  mechanism  an  aid,  even 
though  behind  it  lurks  the  threat  of  a  proletariat 
state.  Superficially,  the  Socialist  is  right  in 
claiming  that  the  mechanical  environment  of  the 
superior  renders  him  more  vulnerable  to  attack, 
but  he  errs  in  believing  that  the  perfecting  of  the 
system  has  strengthened  the  producers  morally. 
Far  from  that,  it  has  involved  them  in  a  web 
from  which  they  cannot  escape.  They  are,  para- 
doxically, slaves  without  masters.  If  there  is 
any  tendency  so  pronounced  as  to  strike  the  ob- 
server by  its  obviousness  it  is  that  industrial 
"evolution"  moves,  not  towards  industrial  free- 
dom, but  from  a  condition  of  involuntary  to  one 
of  voluntary  slavery.  The  fact  that  the  present 
organization  and  trend  are  gregarious  does  not 
imply  the  absence  of  the  master,  it  merely  alters 
his  form  and  really  increases  his  strength,  since 
he  has  become  impersonal. 

But  this  master  will  disappear  when  the  ma- 
—147— 


DEMOCRACY 


chine  becomes  the  property  of  the  worker?  It 
cannot  become  the  property  of  the  worker;  the 
most  he  can  hope  for  is  to  have  it  the  property 
of  the  state;  a  worker's  state,  let  it  be  conceded; 
even  so  the  machine  is  valuable  only  because  it 
is  one  in  a  chain  of  machines,  all  of  which  co- 
ordinate. But  the  output  of  the  machine  will 
belong  to  the  worker,  where  now  the  excess  over 
his  maintenance  passes  to  a  capitalist?  The  ex- 
cess will  go  to  the  Socialist  state,  which  will  find 
ways  to  utilize  it  in  the  development  of  further 
projects,  the  upkeep  of  existing  equipment,  the 
extension  of  public  improvement.  As  this  is 
what  happens  to  it  now,  indirectly,  even  in  the 
hands  of  the  capitalist,  an  equality  of  terms  is 
arrived  at.  But  the  capitalist  is  self-made,  self- 
foisted  on  the  industrial  regime;  he  returns  no 
equivalent  to  society  for  the  unusual  stipend  he 
exacts  for  his  luxuries.  This  view  is  exagger- 
ated, but,  conceding  it,  does  it  not  form  the  es- 
sential requirement  of  any  type  of  overman? 
But  there  can  be  no  overman  under  Socialism. 
Why  not? 

The  Socialist  movement  is  a  revolt  of  an  in- 
tellectual caste  and  is  not,  as  popularly  supposed, 
a  protest  of  the  working  class.     In  the  develop- 
—148— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

ment  of  the  present  commercial  order  the  road  to 
power  has  been  made  increasingly  difficult  to 
men  of  a  certain  mental  type — men  little  inter- 
ested in  the  ordinary  methods  of  commercial 
life,  averse  to  the  habits  of  the  business  world, 
and  lacking  the  qualities  essential  to  success  in 
making  money.  They  are,  as  a  rule,  men  of 
ideas,  but  their  ideas  are  remote  from  the  fa- 
voured atmosphere  of  everyday  life.  But  they 
are  yet  desirous,  no  less  than  others,  to  exert  an 
influence  in  some  way  on  the  life  about  them. 
They  have  been,  as  a  general  thing,  individuals 
with  no  liking  for  service  as  corsairs  and  of  a 
markedly  higher  type,  expressing  openly  their 
contempt  for  all  the  partisans  of  pseudo-reforms. 
They  have  been  capable  of  grasping  the  rationale 
of  the  modern  world  and  have,  as  they  believe, 
discovered  how  the  commercial  group  can  be 
undermined  by  means  of  subversion  of  the 
worker  groups.  The  result  has  been  the  appear- 
ance of  various  philosophies  of  progress,  his- 
toric parallels,  accounts  of  the  gradual  rise  of 
labour  through  the  ages;  the  history  of  "class 
society."  In  addition,  some  of  the  most  potent 
psychological  supports  of  the  present  state  have 
been  attacked.  Religion  has  been  assailed,  and 
—149— 


DEMOCRACY 


all  the  objections  of  science  to  theories  of  revela- 
tion have  been  exploited  to  the  limit.  Most  im- 
portant of  all,  there  has  been  inculcated  the  con- 
cept of  a  solidarity  of  labour,  embraced  in  the 
idea  of  "class  consciousness,"  the  belief  in  the 
permanence  and  coming  power  of  a  submerged 
class,  by  right  the  lawful  heir  of  all  the  estates 
of  civilization. 

The  theory  of  "class  consciousness"  has  ob- 
tained the  status  of  a  principle  as  fixed  as  a  re- 
ligious dogma,  and  once  well  instilled  is  prac- 
tically unshakable.  Henceforth,  the  capitalist 
and  his  society  are  abhorrent  to  the  '^wakened" 
worker,  and  he  dreams  of  the  millennial  day  just 
as  did  the  early  Christians. 

This  movement,  therefore,  is  the  outer  mani- 
festation of  a  more  significant  struggle.  It  is  the 
will  to  power  of  an  intellectual  group  endeavour- 
ing to  cope  with  the  will  to  power  of  a  great 
commercial  class,  and  it  is  a  movement  of  vast 
possibilities,  for  it  does  not  aim  at  all  at  liberat- 
ing the  worker,  for  that  is  impossible  without 
destroying  mechanical  civilization,  but  would 
simply  replace  the  present  ruling  group  by  one 
of  a  non-commercial  type. 

That  the  tendency  of  modern  industrial  growth 
—150— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

is  towards  the  Socialist  idea  in  a  modified  form 
is  undeniable,  but  it  is  an  error  to  suppose  that 
the  mere  operation  of  the  industrial  machine  by 
government  is  Socialism  as  officially  sanctioned. 
One  of  the  apprehensions  of  these  leaders  has 
been  that  the  capitalist  group  would  effect  this 
very  step,  renewing  their  power  by  the  authority 
of  the  state  exercised  over  individual  and  ma- 
chine, this  state  being  dominated  by  the  capital- 
ist. It  is  clear  that  there  is  an  element  of  un- 
certainty here,  for  if  the  government  is  in  the 
hands  of  one  group  under  a  majority  system,  it 
can  certainly  be  passed  on  to  another  by  the 
mere  matter  of  an  election.  The  superior  num- 
ber is  always  in  the  hands  of  the  inferior  group. 
It  is  understood  by  the  leaders  of  the  movement 
that  any  improvement  in  the  condition  of  the 
worker  militates  against  them,  for  it  is  then 
difficult  to  hold  in  line  the  men  upon  whom  they 
have  to  depend.  They  are  also  aware  of  the 
power  of  the  vast  propaganda  agencies  at  work, 
maintaining  the  present  order  of  things,  and  it  is 
for  this  reason  that  hope  is  entertained  at  all 
times  that  exceptional  events  may  introduce  a 
critical  situation,  of  which  instant  advantage  may 
be  taken. 

—151— 


DEMOCRACY 


41 

The  Socialist  State 

The  question  arises  as  to  what  form  the  will 
to  power  would  take  in  such  a  society.  Conced- 
ing the  "triumph"  of  Socialism,  in  what  way 
would  it  differ  from  the  present  regime? 

The  force  of  habit  engendered  by  the  new  in- 
dustrial methods  is  one  of  the  most  effective 
agents  for  holding  the  existing  status.  The  mind 
of  the  ordinary  man  is  not  proof  against  the 
insidious  influence  of  that  cruel  regularity,  that 
essential  imitation  of  the  movements  of  auto- 
mata. It  is  a  question  if  even  the  superior  mind 
can  long  stand  against  it,  and  genius  only  es- 
capes because  it  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
The  average  mind  drops  into  a  rut,  and  there- 
after desires  only  the  uniformity  of  life  to  which 
it  has  become  accustomed.  This  tendency  ex- 
tends into  many  avocations  supposed  to  be  be- 
yond machine  influence,  because  all  the  processes 
of  life  become  more  ordered  and  simplified  as 
time  passes.  Civilization  actually  threatens  to 
take  on  the  conventionalism  of  the  Egyptian  or- 
der, in  which  even  art  succumbed.  Standard- 
ization is  the  rule  throughout;  the  elimination  of 
—152— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

: 1 

originality  is  always  sought;  a  series  of  move- 
ments always  the  same.  The  result  is  a  struc- 
ture that  is  invariable,  or,  at  all  events,  that  is 
composed  of  invariable  elements.  This  trend 
can  hardly  escape  the  thoughtful  man.  It  helps 
Socialism  as  a  theory,  but  militates  against  it  as 
a  fact,  by  reason  of  the  effect  on  the  mind  of  the 
individual.  It  is,  broadly,  the  implacable  foe 
of  change. 

Under  Socialism  the  actual  working  groups 
would  take  a  military  form  of  organization,  but 
with  the  leaders  selected  by  vote.  The  battle  for 
power  would  first  appear  in  this  primary  sphere, 
but  would  extend,  with  time,  to  the  higher  and 
more  important  directorships,  those  involving  the 
general  handling  of  the  social  machine.  Unless 
under  this  order  all  the  precedents  of  experience 
proved  inapplicable,  the  tendency  in  this  higher 
group  would  be  towards  permanency.  The 
question  arises  as  to  what  method  would  be  em- 
ployed to  assure  the  higher  from  the  lesser.  Ob- 
viously, the  method  of  increasing  the  interest  and 
ardour  among  the  contestants  of  lower  grades  in 
their  fights  for  their  own  coveted  niches — a  di- 
version to  hold  them  to  the  plane  to  which  they 
belong.  Again,  there  might  be  an  increase  in 
—153— 


DEMOCRACY 


tlie  difficulties  to  be  surmounted  to  reach  the  up- 
per, the  creation  of  conditions  precluding  the  as- 
cent of  inferiors.  It  may  be  suggested  that  this 
would  not  be  an  easy  matter,  the  lower  being  on 
the  alert  for  all  such  efforts.  But  it  is  the  very 
difficulty  of  the  thing  that  would  attract  daring 
spirits;  it  is  this  taste  for  the  difficult  which  as- 
sures the  eminence  of  the  stronger  in  any  society. 
The  personal  element  cannot  be  set  aside;  some 
men  are  naturally  more  enterprising  and  daring 
— and  more  popular — than  others.  The  supe- 
rior would  aim  to  add  to  the  difficulties,  and  so 
discourage  faint-hearts. 

The  elimination  of  directly  controlled  wealth 
might  prove  more  helpful  to  the  superior  class 
than  now  seems  likely.  In  the  first  place,  the 
struggle  for  property  would  have  disappeared, 
with  its  vast  dissipation  of  energy.  The  posi- 
tion of  the  producer  as  such  would  be  fixed. 
The  superior  man  would  thus  be  freer  to  pursue 
his  own  plans.  No  longer  harassed  from  below, 
he  could  concentrate  his  power  against  his  equals. 
Observing  the  past,  it  is  worthy  of  remark  that 
the  strongest  orders  hitherto  have  always  been 
those  supported  by  a  combination  of  military 
and     intellectual     forces.     Contempt     for     the 

— 154r— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 


money  maker  has  been  a  significant  phenomenon 
in  all  of  them.  So  profound,  indeed,  was  this 
sentiment  in  feudal  times  that  it  still  persists,  and 
the  self-made  man  of  great  commercial  ability 
yet  suffers  from  it.  Wealth  gives  power  under 
a  certain  social  form,  but  only  the  wealth  of  an 
individual,  or  of  a  group,  can  be  brought  to  bear 
on  a  given  object.  In  the  collective  state,  the 
superior  group  would  control  the  whole  wealth 
of  that  state.  It  would  sway  the  state  machine, 
and  maintain  its  power  by  its  intellectual  and 
moral  propaganda.  The  power  of  propaganda, 
under  such  a  system,  would  be  taken  away  from 
individuals,  for  their  use  of  it  would  be  looked 
upon  as  inimicable  to  the  state;  it  would,  there- 
fore, assume  a  state  form  and  would  be  in  the 
hands  of  the  upper  group.  Their  position  would 
thus  become  practically  unassailable. 

All  systems  aim  to  prevent  the  rise  of  the  ex- 
ceptional man  but  none  succeed,  except  in  part. 
He  will,  inevitably,  force  his  way.  Education 
cannot  change  this  fact,  although  the  Socialists 
believe  that,  combined  with  average  labour  effi- 
ciency, it  will  effect  universal  equality.  Educa- 
tion is  merely  a  polish  on  material,  and  the  finer 
always  reflects  a  higher  lustre.  The  man  of 
—155— 


DEMOCRACY 


ideas  will  stand  apart  at  all  times  and,  except 
at  moments  of  fanatical  excitement,  hold  his 
own.  It  is  this  very  capacity  that  makes  him 
exceptional. 

There  is  another  factor  generally  overlooked 
in  treating  this  subject,  and  that  is  religion.  It 
is  often  assumed,  because  of  the  remarkable 
materialism  of  the  modern  Socialist  movement, 
that,  should  it  succeed,  religion  would  practically 
disappear.  This  reasoning  is  not  sound.  The 
general  attitude  of  Socialism  towards  religion 
has  been  due  to  a  belief  among  its  advocates  that 
ecclesiasticism  has  had  for  its  object  the  support 
of  ruling  castes,  through  spiritual  control  of  the 
mass  mind.  This  is  a  legacy  from  the  French 
revolutionary  "philosophers."  The  extreme 
materialism  of  nineteenth  century  science 
strengthened  the  attitude,  and  the  Darwinian 
hypothesis,  peculiarly  engaging  to  the  scientific 
Socialist,  since  it  is  a  master  element  in  his  own 
theory,  still  further  accentuated  the  distrust  of 
popular  religion.  In  Europe,  where  govern- 
ments were  more  clearly  identified  as  mere  in- 
strumentalities of  ruling  groups,  the  support  of 
religion  by  the  state  was  accepted  as  palpable 
evidence  of  the  truth  of  the  position.  Religion 
—156— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

.  \ 

was  viewed,  then,  as  an  adjunct  of  capitalism 
(in  the  modern  era),  and  the  idea  of  class  con- 
sciousness was  promulgated  as  an  opposing  prin- 
ciple. But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  general  ques- 
tion is  one  over  which  division  exists  among  So- 
cialists. Some  follow  idealistic  impulses  purely, 
the  Socialist  program  being  held  to  be  a  means 
of  attaining  the  passive  individual  relation  de- 
fined in  Christian  ethics. 

In  some  modern  democracies  religion  has  be- 
come an  active  political  force,  due  to  the  influ- 
ence of  corsair  propaganda.  The  general  popu- 
lar distrust  of  religion  as  an  institution  aiming 
to  coalesce  church  and  state  no  longer  exists. 
To  speak  plainly,  this  is  a  menace  feared  in  con- 
nection with  one  church  alone,  that  which  was 
identified  with  feudalism  in  Europe.  All  others 
participate  in  political  movements  without  pro- 
test, their  control  having  passed  to  the  aggres- 
sive corsair  caste,  which  modifies  their  ethics 
to  harmonize  with  political  and  economic  ex- 
pediency. Religion  could  thus  exist  in  a  social- 
ist state  as  fully  as  in  any  other,  and  might,  in- 
deed, develop  into  an  institution  of  great  force, 
for,  should  it  include  the  proper  spiritual  ele- 
ments to  appeal  to  the  ordinary  mind,  an  avenue 
—157— 


DEMOCRACY 


would  be  furnished  through  which  the  will  to 
power  of  an  important  class  might  express  it- 
self. In  any  consideration  of  this  subject  it  has 
to  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  trend  of  will  ex- 
pression among  the  lower  classes  is  always  to- 
wards negation,  and  they  could  readily  be  led 
to  adapt  themselves  to  new  spiritual  leadership. 
Such  tendencies  would  persist  under  Socialism, 
regardless  of  all  opposite  principles  enunciated 
during  the  period  of  revolutionary  propaganda. 
The  ultimate  union  of  political  and  spiritual 
agencies  would  thus  be  easily  possible,  and  the 
result  would  be  tlie  appearance  of  an  industrial 
theocracy. 

42 

The  Thirst  for  Liberty 

These  ideas,  admittedly  conjectural,  are  of- 
fered merely  in  general  rebuttal  of  the  prevail- 
ing notion  of  a  democratic  industrial  order.  A 
state  swayed  by  spontaneous  public  opinion  is  an 
impossibility,  for  the  masses  have  no  opinion, 
beyond  the  small  things  of  life,  except  as  it  is 
suggested  to  them.  The  ordinary  man  is,  in  the 
main,  satisfied  with  life  as  he  finds  it;  dissatis- 
faction is  an  evil  gift  of  the  gods  to  the  superior. 
—158— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

Socialism,  itself,  as  an  intelligent  movement,  is 
the  result  of  the  labour  and  aspiration  of  men 
who  have  aimed  to  rise  to  power  along  novel 
lines,  nor  is  this  a  reflection  on  them,  for  the 
motive  is  essentially  human  and  universal. 

The  rise  of  democratic  systems,  whether  they 
are  good  or  bad,  has  not  resulted  from  the 
demands  of  the  masses  of  the  people  for  liberty. 
They  have  been  created  by  variations  of  the 
mode  of  expression  of  the  will  to  power,  and 
have  been  advocated  because  and  whenever  they 
have  furnished  a  better  vehicle  for  that  expres- 
sion. The  democratic  form  of  government  has, 
in  modern  times,  proven  itself  particularly 
adapted  to  such  purposes.  It  is  certainly  with- 
in the  range  of  probability  that  it  may  some  day 
pass,  in  the  future  changes  incident  to  the  end- 
less struggle. 

No  system  indeed,  can  be  looked  on  as  per- 
manent and  if  history  is  any  criterion  the  demo- 
cratic state  is  the  most  transient  of  all.  It  may 
give  way  at  any  time,  to  be  replaced  by  some 
form  of  the  state  returning  to  more  primitive 
models.  Science  may  discover  keys  that  will 
give  a  new  group  an  actual  physical  superiority 
over  the  rest  of  society.  The  forces  of  nature  are 
—159— 


DEMOCRACY 


as  yet  but  little  understood,  but  the  direction  of 
investigation  is  toward  fields  promising  more 
concentrated  forms  of  energy.  Genius  is,  in  a 
sense,  a  constant  menace  to  the  inferior,  and 
may  finally  bind  the  race  in  bonds  more  cruel 
than  any  man  has  ever  known. 

43 

Slavery 

Of  those  institutions  that  have  distinguished 
the  past  and  have  been  lapped  over  into  the 
modern  epoch  none  is  more  misunderstood  than 
slavery.  The  word  is  one  of  reproach,  and  his- 
torians love  to  dilate  on  the  imaginary  sufferings 
the  institution  caused  in  another  age.  But  to 
enter  into  the  true  spirit  of  any  question  involv- 
ing another  epoch  it  is  necessary  to  consider  the 
habits  and  feelings  of  that  epoch.  Not  other- 
wise can  a  correct  idea  of  the  conditions  it  met 
be  obtained.  Many  things  are  permissible  to- 
day that  once  would  have  been  frowned  on,  and 
the  reverse  is  also  true.  Each  era  has  motives 
of  its  own;  habits  distinct  from  those  of  others; 
particular  hopes  and  fears. 

Of  slavery  itself  the  popular  conception  is,  of 
course,  erroneous.  It  would  be  more  correct 
—160— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

to  speak  of  it  as  a  labour  system  having  a  com- 
pulsory form.  The  great  architectural  and  engi- 
neering enterprises  of  antiquity  demanded  man- 
ual labour  on  a  prodigious  scale.  Between  the 
engineers  and  those  who  carried  out  their  ideas 
an  immense  gap  existed.  Slaves,  themselves, 
were  carefully  classified,  the  heavier  burdens 
going  to  the  physically  fit.  Intelligence  was 
quickly  recognized;  it  has  always  been  a  rarity 
and,  like  gold,  commands  its  price.  Numerous 
slaves  were  men  of  intellect,  even  of  superior 
culture,  as  is  conclusively  shown  by  their  literary 
remains.  The  treatment  accorded  varied  with 
their  position,  just  as  it  does  in  the  modem 
world.  The  brawny  foreman  of  rough  gangs, 
selected  for  his  ability  to  drive  his  men  by  physi- 
cal force,  had  his  prototype  in  the  past. 

The  master  could  punish,  and  even  destroy, 
but  the  latter  prerogative  was  limited  in  civilized 
societies  by  the  moral  influence  of  the  holding 
groups,  for  the  man  who  is  wantonly  cruel  has 
never  been  popular  anywhere.  Unquestionably, 
the  slave  was  tlie  master's  property,  subject  to 
the  commands  of  an  overseer,  but  this  status 
was  not  so  onerous  as  it  now  appears.  Prima- 
rily, he  was  cared  for  and,  as  a  rule,  well  cared 
—161— 


DEMOCRACY 


for.  Pleasures  were  not  prohibited  him,  and,  to 
some  extent  at  least,  he  partook  of  the  triumphs 
of  the  master.  In  some  cases  a  free  marriage 
relation  was  respected,  but  in  an  age  when  sex 
was  viewed  differently  from  what  it  is  to-day 
this  was  not  as  important  as  it  now  seems.  Gen- 
erally, the  condition  of  a  slave  under  one  mas- 
ter was  as  good  as  under  another;  there  was  small 
inducement  to  wander  elsewhere.  Distances 
were  great;  transportation  was  poor,  there  was 
little  reason  to  long  for  other  scenes  and  oppor- 
tunities when  it  was  certain  that  no  improvement 
would  be  found. 

Life  was  more  settled.  Wealthy  families  re- 
mained so  for  generations,  their  fall  from  af- 
fluence more  often  being  occasioned  by  war  or 
politics  than  by  anything  else.  In  the  former 
case,  the  master  certainly  suffered  more  than  his 
slaves,  although  the  disaster  was  common.  In 
the  latter  case,  misfortune  overtook  the  owner 
alone.  That  deep  attachments  existed  between 
certain  slaves  and  their  masters  is  specifically 
alluded  to  in  many  ancient  chronicles.  It  at 
least  proves  that  the  human  element  was  pres- 
ent, and  that  it  must  have  been  accompanied  by 
its  usual  concomitant,  good  feeling. 
—162— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

There  was  a  class  of  free  labour,  also,  in  the 
olden  days.  The  cause  of  its  survival  is  not  far 
to  seek,  and  is  interesting  as  bearing  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  will  to  power.  All  ancient  nations 
were  military  powers.  None  could  maintain 
independence  or  favourable  alliances  without  a 
professional  military  caste.  It  was  essential  to 
their  existence,  therefore,  that  types  suitable  to 
war  should  compose  a  permanent  part  of  the 
population.  These  were  drawn  from  the  agra- 
rians, the  lower  nobility,  above  all,  from  free 
labour.  Will,  in  these  groups,  was  stronger; 
their  members  were  forceful  men,  easily  pre- 
pared for  the  hazards  of  war.  Slaves  were  not 
generally  employed  in  such  pursuits,  primarily 
because  they  constituted  a  type  defective  in  ag- 
gression. There  were  exceptions  to  this  among 
some  nations,  to  be  sure ;  in  these  some  of  the  sol- 
diers were  actually,  or  practically,  slaves,  and 
were  even  goaded  into  action  with  the  whip. 
But  they  were  not  regarded  as  dependable,  and 
among  the  more  powerful  military  nations  they 
were  not  found.  The  armies  of  Rome  were  com- 
posed of  a  Latin  nucleus,  with  allies  and  mer- 
cenaries; war  then  constituted  a  legitimate  and 
permanent  trade. 

—163— 


DEMOCRACY 


In  more  modern  times  there  was  the  bond 
slave  of  Europe,  the  soil  slave  who  could  not 
leave  his  plot  of  ground.  Yet  he  had  certain 
rights.  If  he  was  bound  to  the  soil,  at  least  he 
was  free  to  remain  on  it;  the  master  could  not 
drive  him  off,  and  even  on  sale  or  transfer  of  the 
ground  the  occupant's  privilege  was  inviolable. 
He  still  retained  his  right  to  cultivate,  and  had 
to  be  cared  for  and  protected  in  the  event  of  war. 
That  he  could  not  go  where  he  pleased  seems  an 
evil  today,  but  the  world  was  different  then. 
Travel  was  a  serious  matter,  involving  expense 
and  arms.  The  highways  were  dangerous.  It 
is  certain  that  in  the  social  relaxations  of  those 
days  inferiors  had  a  share,  and  these  entertain- 
ments were  on  a  scale  undreamed  of  now. 
Feasting,  drinking  and  games  went  on  for  weeks, 
and  the  underling  had  his  pleasure  with  the  lord, 
and  no  bill  to  pay. 

These  facts  have  been  lost  sight  of,  on  account 
of  the  merciless  propaganda  of  the  French  revo- 
lutionists, who  desired  to  blacken  as  much  as 
they  could  the  system  they  were  bent  on  de- 
stroying. But  no  intelligent  man  now  can  see 
anything  more  in  that  period  of  philosophical 
madness  than  the  summit  of  a  movement  that 
—164— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

finally  broke  down  feudalism,  not  to  liberate 
man,  but  to  force  him  into  the  arms  of  a  rising 
factory  system.  He  became  free — but  only  to 
sell  his  toil  at  a  sacrifice  of  privilege,  and  for  a 
bare  subsistence  wage.  It  is  notorious  that  at 
the  time  the  factory  system  arose,  when  France 
and  England  were  warring  for  commercial  su- 
premacy, wages  were  lower  than  they  had  been 
for  centuries,  considering  their  purchasing 
power.  It  was  only  after  prolonged  labour  con- 
flicts that  conditions  again  approximated  ancient 
levels.  The  story  of  the  state  of  English  labour 
at  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century  is  almost 
incredible,  and  yet  the  ancestors  of  this  wretched 
class  had  been  the  yeomanry  of  Merrie  England. 
In  more  recent  days  slavery  became  a  burning 
issue  in  America.  The  propaganda  against  the 
southern  slave  owner  was  charged  with  misrepre- 
sentation, wilful  and  otherwise.  No  tale  of 
ciuelty  was  too  wild  to  find  avid  believers.  Yet 
these  stories  were,  in  the  main,  quite  untrue. 
Cruelty  existed,  to  be  sure,  for  there  were  cruel 
men  in  the  South,  as  there  were  in  the  North,  but 
they  were  looked  down  upon  by  all  decent  men. 
The  most  cruel  class  was  that  of  the  overseers, 
and  they  were  often  slaves  themselves.  The 
—165— 


DEMOCRACY 


destruction  of  the  slave  system  in  the  South  was 
not,  however,  due  to  the  propaganda  mentioned. 
That  was  only  an  instrument  used  after  the  thing 
had  been  decided  on.  An  economic  antagonism 
had  developed  between  the  sections,  and  it  was 
not  altogether  simple  in  character.  Its  domi- 
nant factors  were,  first,  friction  over  the  tariff 
system  of  the  North,  which  taxed  the  planter, 
whose  relations  were  almost  altogether  with 
Europe,  since  it  was  there  he  disposed  of  his 
cotton,  and  secondly,  the  belief  in  the  North  that 
free  coloured  labor  could  be  used  there  to  com- 
pete with  the  white  European. 

44 

Free  Labor  '■ 

Chattel  slavery  has  now  disappeared.  In  its 
place  there  exists  a  vast  system  of  so-called  free 
labour.  This  is  not  only  free  to  bargain  for  its 
wages;  it  also  possesses  specific  political  rights. 
It  has  become  an  immense  body,  and  a  consider- 
able portion  is  organized  in  unions  and  federa- 
tions. In  some  countries  it  works  together  in 
political  parties.  It  has  a  degree  of  liberty 
which,  at  first  blush,  makes  its  estate  seem  in- 
finitely superior  to  that  of  the  ancient  slaves.  It 
—166- 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

can  go  and  come  at  its  own  behest;  it  possesses 
property  rights;  it  can  marry  and  fomid  fami- 
lies. For  exceptionally  gifted  individuals  all 
■the  avenues  of  advancement  are  open. 

On  the  other  hand,  these  advantages  are  ac- 
companied by  an  environment  which  does  not 
very  much  outshine  the  old  environment  of  the 
slaves.  If  the  labourers  of  today  may  go  and 
come  at  their  own  will  and  expense,  their  move- 
ment from  point  to  point  can,  as  a  practical  mat- 
ter, have  but  one  object:  the  obtaining  of  em- 
ployment. They  must  work  to  live.  This  ne- 
cessity forever  compels  them.  They  are  de- 
pendent on  themselves  at  all  times,  and  on  them- 
selves alone,  for  sustenance.  Their  wage  rarely 
exceeds  the  cost  of  maintenance.  Property  can 
be  acquired  only  by  cruel  abstinence;  obtained, 
it  is  a  bond  to  keep  them  wherever  it  may  be.  A 
radical  change  in  environment  due  to  an  indus- 
trial crisis  may  force  its  sale  at  a  great  loss. 
Their  political  rights  are  large,  but  they  must 
stand  on  a  level  with  others  having  the  same 
rights,  and  their  opportunities  to  judge  men  and 
measures  are  not  favourable.  They  are  borne 
down  by  ceaseless  propaganda,  and  there  is  little 
in  their  lives  to  give  them  the  insight  to  make 
—167— 


DEMOCRACY 


rational  distinctions.  They  are  a  continued 
prey  to  hopes,  only  to  find  them  deferred.  They 
sometimes  have  the  joy  of  victory,  but  rarely  its 
fruits.  Age  comes  apace.  They  deteriorate 
early,  for  the  vast  machine  they  feed  craves 
young  blood.  They  step  aside  unregretted; 
their  savings  seldom  equalling  what  they  really 
require  for  the  last  days.  Hope  pursues  them 
like  a  will  o'  the  wisp.  There  is  no  one  there 
with  a  whip,  but  hunger  is  at  the  door,  and  it  is 
stronger  than  the  lash.  No  matter  what  party 
they  espouse,  they  find  it  is  only  to  help  another 
upward — beyond  them.  Yet,  in  a  thousand 
tongues  they  hear  a  siren  song  of  a  golden 
future! 


—168- 


WOMAN  AND  dENIUS 


VI 

Woman  and  Genius 

45 

Effects  of  Propaganda 

It  is  necessary  to  determine  more  precisely 
than  has  been  done  the  nature  of  the  forces  that 
further  a  decline  of  resisting  power  among  sub- 
ordinate groups  of  men,  and  that,  to  some  extent, 
debase  even  the  upper  groups.  Such  forces  per- 
vade the  general  structure  of  mass  societies, 
•though  modified  partly  by  counter  tendencies 
that  save  the  affected  units  from  a  complete  de- 
struction of  the  will.  Tradition  is  a  powerful 
source  of  opposition  to  this  decay.  It  tends  to 
stabilize  the  attitude  of  inferior  groups,  just  as 
it  colours  the  temperament  of  superiors.  In 
transient  societies,  therefore,  where  this  factor 
scarcely  exists,  the  effects  of  positive  depressing 
influences  are  better  defined.  The  common 
mind  yields  easily,  following  unconsciously  an 
impetus  it  does  not  comprehend. 
—171— 


DEMOCRACY 


Do  the  changes  constantly  perceptible  on 
every  hand  originate  in  conscious  and  intelligent 
prevision,  taking  on  the  nature  of  method  or 
conspiracy?  Does  the  ascending  will  group  be- 
come so  far-seeing  that  it  adopts  plans  that  look 
to  the  future  and  shapes  policies  having  for  their 
object  the  continued  depletion  of  the  lower  will? 
The  question  must  be  answered  negatively.  All 
such  undertakings  develop  spontaneously  and 
without  deliberation  from  the  very  nature  of  the 
conflict  always  raging  in  society,  whatever  its 
form.  Certainly,  experience  lends  itself  to 
judgment,  and  the  desirability  of  a  course  of 
action  may  make  itself  obvious.  It  has  to  be 
kept  in  mind,  too,  that  the  corsairs  always  in- 
clude individuals,  or  minor  propaganda  groups, 
alert  to  shifting  circumstances.  This  is  their 
trade;  they  seek  weak  spots,  and  capitalize  them 
quickly.  But  even  here  the  specific  object  is  not 
necessarily  to  demoralize  the  lower  groups,  and 
so  augment  their  weakness.  What  is  aimed  at 
is  often  no  more  than  a  mere  display  of  virtuos- 
ity— the  imposition  of  an  artificial  standard 
by  art — artificial  because  arbitrary,  mali- 
cious and  unnatural.  Imbued  with  this 
spirit,  the  corsairs  move  from  phase  to 
—172— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

phase  of  social  conduct  and  idea,  essaying  among 
other  things  to  eliminate  temptation  by  the  sim- 
ple expedient  of  destroying  all  tempting  agents. 
The  operation  of  the  mind  that  has  craved  the  al- 
leged evils  is  not  considered  at  all.  Why  has  it 
looked  for  and  found  that  which  is,  apparently, 
harmful?  There  must  have  been  a  psycho- 
logical reason,  but  no  attention  is  given  it.  This 
cause  persists,  in  spite  of  the  brutal  surgery  that 
seeks  to  destroy  it.  Unable  to  satisfy  itself,  the 
old  appetite  seeks  another  form  of  excitement, 
not  necessarily  more  virtuous.  Nevertheless,  an 
important  object  has  been  achieved,  consciously 
or  unconsciously,  and  it  redounds  to  the  benefit 
of  the  corsair.  The  mass,  once  imposed  upon, 
gravitates  towards  the  condition  of  a  body  that 
yields  to  any  isxternal  pressure.  Two  positive 
results  follow:  first,  the  will  is  no  longer  called 
on  to  act  for  itself  in  resisting  an  inclination  that 
may,  or  may  not,  be  deleterious.  Secondly,  the 
will  becomes  accustomed  to  conforming  to  the 
arbitrary  impulses  of  other  wills.  In  either 
case,  it  declines  as  a  resisting  force,  the  in- 
dividual becoming  passive.  Such  is  the  result 
of  all  corsair  morality. 

—173— 


DEMOCRACY 


46 

The  Rise  of  Woman 

Since  it  is  the  stronger  who  feel  these  forces 
most  sharply,  the  weaker  being  normally  nega- 
tive, it  follows  that  in  a  general  social  decline 
the  actual  effect  will  not  be  noted  until  those 
who  were  once  positive  have  been  forced  into 
alignment  with  the  lower  level.  It  is  for  this 
reason  that  delay  occurs  before  sex  enters  as  a 
factor  of  importance.  Certain  masculine  groups 
gradually  descend  until  they  are  either  on  a 
footing  with  the  feminine  psychologically,  or 
approximately  so.  This  statement  must  be 
qualified.  There  is  not  an  actual  identity  of 
wills,  although  the  masculine  has  ceased  to  have 
its  earlier  force.  Preceding  the  recent  success- 
ful struggle  for  equal  suffrage,  the  industrial 
structure  had  been  accommodating  itself  to  a 
lower  labour  class  and  the  male  was  formed  into 
alignment  with  the  opposite  sex  in  an  effort  to 
meet  the  new  conditions.  Unable  to  resist  them, 
he  became  negative  in  a  double  sense,  morally 
and  economically.  The  rise  of  woman  as  an 
active  industrial  rival  and  then  as  a  political 
equal  was  thus  extremely  significant,  for  it  indi- 
—174^ 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

cated  a  material  deterioration  of  the  will  of  the 
male.  Within  a  comparatively  brief  space  of 
time,  historically  considered,  a  group  originally 
strong  in  all  positive  qualities  reached  a  station 
where  it  was  balanced  by  a  group  of  ages-old 
inferiors. 

In  America,  more  than  in  any  other  modem 
state,  there  were  agencies  that  lent  themselves 
to  the  process,  but  of  which  the  average  man  re- 
mained strangely  ignorant.  In  the  first  place, 
the  position  of  woman  in  an  incipient  society, 
and  one  in  which  her  numerical  minority  was 
pronounced,  gave  an  advantage  to  her  in  the 
matter  of  selection,  for  in  the  estimation  of  the 
male  her  value  rose  with  her  rarity.  This  ap- 
parent value  was  augmented  by  her  sequestered 
life,  her  absence  from  the  excitement  of  every 
day  strife,  her  gentleness,  and  her  characteristic 
shrewd  reserve,  all  of  which  made  her  seem 
apart  from  the  world  of  action  and  evil.  Vir- 
tues transcendant  were  imputed  to  her,  and  their 
imagined  existence  placed  her  on  a  throne  where 
she  reigned  as  a  moral  paragon — a  sort  of  virgin 
goddess  in  a  world  of  sin.  Early  American  lit- 
erature teems  with  this  idea.  It  pervades  Poe's 
most  affecting  lines.  It  was  a  source  of  general 
—175— 


DEMOCRACY 


national  pride,  and  the  cause  of  invidious  refer- 
ences to  less  favoured  lands.  The  American 
man  deferred  to  this  new  image  as  the  feudal 
gallant  bowed  down  to  his.  The  causes  were 
identical:  the  masculine  pursuit  of  the  ideal,  that 
strange  impulse  universal  among  men! — the 
quest  for  a  tangible  expression  of  the  intangible! 
— something  that  would  fix  in  the  external  world 
the  elusive  visions  of  the  unreal!  It  is  in  ele- 
mentary societies  that  this  tendency  is  most  def- 
inite— in  societies  still  lacking  in  avenues  of  ex- 
pression, and  where  spiritual  forces  are  limited 
in  range.  Woman  worship  always  fades  with 
the  rise  of  art  and  intellectual  development,  for 
they  include  surer  and  better  means  of  revealing 
the  higher  longings  of  the  spirit. 

Deference  to  women,  then,  followed  the  recog- 
nition of  an  imaginary  moral  superiority,  and 
did  not  result  from  any  regard  for  her  physical 
weakness.  Except  for  the  false  effect  on  the 
minds  of  the  immature  this  was  not,  in  itself,  an 
evil,  save  in  so  far  as  ignorance  is  always  of 
that  quality,  but  during  adolescence  the  conse- 
quences of  any  such  error  are  especially  pro- 
nounced, changing  the  future  character.  False 
ideals,  in  fact,  are  always  traitors  to  the  will, 
—176— 


Ar^D  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

and  here,  in  his  most  cherished  fantasy,  man  bent 
in  his  youth  to  one  that  lowered  his  own  strength, 
and  assisted  in  the  growth  of  a  positive  will 
among  women. 

The  masculine  and  feminine  principles  have 
been  well  likened  to  functions  divisible  in  either, 
thus  allowing  for  a  possible  man-woman  and 
woman-man.  While  this  is  somewhat  overstat- 
ing the  matter,  it  is  undeniable  that  women  often 
manifest  strong  masculine  traits,  and  men  femi- 
nine. This  becomes  marked  in  those  societies 
where  the  two  are  merged  on  the  industrial  and 
political  planes,  and  results  ensue  which  were 
unknown  in  earlier  times.  Woman,  among  the 
many,  is  still  looked  on  as  a  strange,  even  mys- 
terious being,  whose  true  nature  is  unknowable. 
She  is  a  veritable  sphynx,  destroying  all  who 
essay  to  solve  her  riddle.  This  view,  however, 
is  purely  modem  and  occidental,  the  ancients 
and  orientals  evidencing  no  perception  of  an 
enigma  so  portentous.  That  the  common  man  is 
at  last  on  a  plane  with  her  is  not,  therefore,  al- 
together unfortunate,  since  he  may  thereby  come 
to  realize  the  absurdity  of  the  error  he  has  so 
long  cherished.  For  it  is  characteristic  of  mass 
society  that,  in  its  transformation,  it  has  placed 
—177— 


DEMOCRACY 


woman  in  a  position  where  she  is  eager  to  make 
clear,  even  to  the  least,  how  barren  of  mystery 
her  impulses  are.  No  learned  thesis  is  required 
to  prove  that  they  actually  respond  to  natural 
factors  that  are  as  simple  as  her  nature. 

47 

Man  and  the  Universe 

Man  is  a  being  of  will  and  it  is  through  his 
will  that  he  has  his  contacts  with  the  universe. 
Against  this  universe  he  eternally  contends.  He 
surveys  it  as  something  apart  from  himself,  as 
something  he  must  subordinate  to  his  ends.  He 
not  only  struggles  against  it,  he  strives  to  under- 
stand it.  There  is  in  him  this  constant  craving 
for  knowledge,  this  resolution  to  understand,  this 
will  to  know.  He  may,  indeed,  be  called  a  being 
of  both  will  and  understanding,  for  the  two  in- 
volve the  very  keys  of  his  nature.  They  result 
in  his  thirst  for  truth;  with  him,  the  possession  of 
it  is  a  living  necessity.  This  primal  impulse  is' 
observable  even  in  the  most  inferior.  The  trait 
is  essentially  masculine  and  forms  the  basis  of 
man's  natural  veracity.  Flat  negation  of  a 
truth,  and  to  an  equal,  he  rates  an  unpardonable 
sin. 

—178— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

It  does  not  follow  from  this  that  man  either 
perceives  or  expresses  the  truth;  the  significance 
lies  in  his  inclination,  his  attitude.  Within  him- 
self he  reflects  over  the  answers  nature  seems  to 
make  to  him,  endeavouring,  by  his  reason,  to  test 
their  validity.  He  builds  another  and  superior 
world  as  a  result  of  his  deductions,  and  the  im- 
ages he  perceives  become  the  impulses  of  his  ac- 
tions. In  this  respect  he  is  ever  alert.  He 
senses  the  same  quality  in  other  men  and,  un- 
consciously, defers  to  those  whose  natures  are 
more  austere  and  complex  than  his  own.  If  the 
loftier  attributes  are  all  weak  in  the  inferior 
man,  they  are  at  least  present.  In  the  superior 
they  take  on  the  proportions  of  nobility.  Man, 
to  survive  in  the  world,  must  be  strong  and,  com- 
pared to  nature,  he  is  so  at  all  times.  It  is  only 
when  balanced  against  his  fellows  that  degrees  of 
strength  appear  in  him,  and  these  are  determined 
by  relative  forces  of  will. 

48 

The  Feminine  Mind 

Woman  is  in  the  world  for  an  obvious  pur- 
pose, and  her  nature  accords  with  it.     All  her 
functions  converge  towards  the  end  she  is  sup- 
—179— 


DEMOCRACY 


posed  to  achieve:  the  bearing  and  care  of  chil- 
dren. Her  system  and  mind  agree  with  this  pur- 
pose, and  she  cannot  escape  it  any  more  than 
a  natural  object  can  fail  to  respond  to  the  impact 
of  natural  forces.  Her  very  weakness  before 
the  external  world  defines  tlie  quality  of  her  in- 
ner nature.  Deception  is,  to  her,  a  law  as  im- 
mutable as  that  which  causes  the  tides.  To  ef- 
fect the  purpose  of  life  she  must  conquer  man, 
and  he  is,  therefore,  her  eternal  object.  All  the 
force  she  commands,  distinct  from  that  absorbed 
by  the  mother  function,  she  applies  to  the  con- 
test with  the  male.  Since  she  is  weak  and  he  is 
strong,  she  veils  her  limitation  in  profound  and 
perpetual  dissimulation.  She  aims,  at  all  times, 
to  appear  the  sought,  although  forever  seeking. 
Mendacity  is  her  life.  The  search  for  truth  and 
courage  to  face  it  are  aspects  of  existence  utterly 
foreign  to  her.  She  beholds  the  universe  only  in 
so  far  as  it  relates  to  sex,  and  her  inner  nature 
is  a  domain  of  impulses  which  she  strives  to  hide, 
even  from  herself. 

These  inherent  qualities  make  her,  in  some  re- 
spects, superior  to  man.     In  the  natural  world 
she  is  not  hampered  by  introspective  weaknesses. 
She  proceeds  more  directly  towards  an  object; 
—180— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

she  does  not  shrink  from  little  things;  she  has  no 
sentiment.  She  possesses  a  faculty  of  patient 
repetition,  almost  unknown  to  man,  which  adds 
to  her  value  in  the  industrial  world.  Her  mind 
is  essentially  practical;  ideals  are,  to  her,  illu- 
sions purely,  and  masculine  reverence  for  them 
bewilders  her  at  times,  so  foreign  is  it  to  her. 
The  right  to  property  she  never  entirely  con- 
cedes, and  her  weakness  in  this  respect  has  made 
her  face  many  embarrassments.  None  the  less, 
within  range  of  what  is  contiguous,  she  is  quicker 
than  man  and,  seeking  only  utility,  is  more  prac- 
tical. She  sometimes  follows  the  male  in  his 
illusions,  for  she  desires  to  appear  his  ally,  but 
once  free  to  make  her  own  choice,  she  will  re- 
ject the  ideals  he  has  sought  and  return  post 
haste  to  that  which  gives  immediate,  if  not  last- 
ing satisfaction. 

She  is,  consequently,  variable,  elusive,  un- 
moral. She  is,  however,  limited  in  her  display 
of  these  qualities  by  the  supreme  law  of  her 
being,  sex.  This  is  ever  before  her;  more,  it 
pervades  and  is  herself,  since  she  is  sex  incar- 
nate. Submissive  to  the  strong,  she  affects  in- 
dependence towards  the  weak.  On  discovering 
man  bound,  as  it  were — for  in  his  descent  he  in- 
—181— 


DEMOCRACY 


evitably  reaches  such  a  stage — she  casts  aside 
dissimulation  and  boldly  unveils.  It  is  a  com- 
mon phenomenon  of  the  time  and  requires  no 
commentary.  For  all  this,  she  still  hopes  to 
hide  the  longing  that  is  in  her  heart.  Under 
the  conditions  surrounding  her  she  dreams  of 
power  within  the  scope  of  her  inborn  capacities, 
and  sees  in  political  rights  the  possibility  of 
abrogating  the  limitations  within  which  man  has 
confined  her — the  abolition  of  the  moral  princi- 
ples he  has  imputed  to  her,  but  which  she  under- 
stands clearly  that  he,  himself,  imposed  on  her. 
The  will  to  power  as  a  positive  force  in  man 
has  no  parallel  in  the  nature  of  woman.  This 
may  seem  a  contradiction,  but  is  so  only  in  ap- 
pearance. Man  seeks  to  impose  his  will  upon 
the  world.  His  vision  ranges  over  the  visible 
universe;  it  is  his  theatre;  his  field  of  action. 
The  war  in  which  this  attitude  involves  him  be- 
comes his  life.  He  is  satisfied  only  by  the  con- 
quest of  natural  conditions;  he  values  himself 
according  to  his  ability  to  effect  a  return  for 
the  energy  he  expends.  His  life  is  will,  and 
this  he  pours  forth  in  a  stream  of  power.  Fail- 
ure to  achieve  his  object  mars  his  very  existence; 
more,  it  is  equivalent  to  his  destruction,  for  he 
—182— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

deals  with  a  force  that  must  attain  its  goal  or 
leave  him  barren,  disappointed,  and  self-con- 
demned. His  positive  life  he  gives  to  Nature, 
seeking,  in  return,  the  fulfilment  of  the  visions 
that  have  welled  from  his  understanding.  For 
the  impalpable,  he  gives  the  palpable;  for  the 
negative,  the  positive.  This  psychological  sta- 
tus is  reflected  in  many  of  his  ordinary  quali- 
ties. Even  the  commonplace  man  dreams  of  a 
height  where  largesse  will  be  possible  to  him. 
He  views  this  height  as  a  place  of  freedom,  for 
on  it  he  would  liberate  his  nature  from  a  re- 
straint that  is  foreign  to  it. 

In  woman,  the  object  of  life  is  within  her- 
self; the  world  is  herself,  and  to  that  self  no 
sacrifice  can  be  too  great.  Powerless  to  face 
the  problems  of  existence  alone,  she  seeks  to 
learn  their  import  by  mastering  the  masculine 
will,  for  through  this  all  that  she  desires  may  be 
obtained.  Man's  gradual  reduction  of  the  onus 
of  life  has  taken  from  her  much  of  the  labour 
of  other  days.  But  her  nature  it  has  not  al- 
tered, for  it  still  impels  her  to  hold  her  enemy 
to  a  path  conformable  to  her  wish.  Man,  stirred 
by  deeper  passions,  is  forever  dissatisfied  with 
the  result  of  his  achievement.  A  destiny  beyond 
—183— 


DEMOCRACY 


liis  control  urges  him  to  attempt  new  conquests. 
The  higher  the  type,  the  more  vulnerable  it  is  to 
this  impulse.  Among  the  greatest  the  mind  al- 
most loses  contact  with  the  actual,  so  absorbed 
does  it  become  in  the  study  of  its  conjectures.  It 
is  a  favourite  vagary  of  the  superficial  to  speak 
of  woman  as  an  inspiration  to  the  man  of  genius. 
Nothing  could  be  less  true.  The  introspective 
faculty  is,  to  her,  an  enemy  against  which  she 
brings  to  bear  all  the  weapons  with  which  Na- 
ture has  armed  her.  She  perceives  in  it  some- 
thing that  makes  man  independent  of  her. 
Achievement  she  desires,  but  the  achievement  of 
the  average,  or  something  less  than  herself.  She 
dreads  a  passion  that  leads  man  to  pass  over  the 
point  and  circumstance  of  ordinary  things,  to 
reach  what  to  her  seems  nothing  less  than  a 
shadow.  Woe  to  the  man  of  talent  who  permits 
himself  to  enter  into  an  alliance  with  her!  His 
life  will  become  a  struggle  to  escape  the  com- 
monplace, to  which  she  will  ever  lure  him. 
Genius  protects  itself  by  inconstancy,  and  re- 
ceives for  it  the  derision  of  mediocrity.  The 
amours  of  superior  men  are  the  delight  and  de- 
spair of  women.  They  find  themselves  matched 
by  a  type  as  variant  and  subtle  as  themselves. 
—184— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

To  awaken  masculine  sympathy,  woma'n  loves 
to  dilate  on  the  limitations  nature  has  placed 
about  her;  she  even  exaggerates  her  weakness 
and  assumes  it  a  virtue  that  she  is  reconciled  to 
a  destiny  bounded  by  physical  disabilities.  She 
desires  that  man  should  feel  a  certain  responsi- 
bility for  this  state;  that  he  should  understand 
that  in  some  way  he  has  been  the  cause  of  it. 
However  great  he  may  be,  he  cannot  ascend  so 
high  that  she  will  not  reach  him.  His  failure  to 
admit  his  guilt  becomes  an  evidence  of  degraded 
brutality.  The  purpose  of  his  life  should  be  to 
serve  this  lesser  self.  The  ideal  man  of  woman 
would  labour  solely  toward  such  an  end.  She 
grasps,  with  anguish,  the  painful  truth  that  the 
sex  relation  is,  to  him,  only  incidental,  and  that 
to  the  man  capable  of  great  things  it  is  even  less 
so  than  to  the  ordinary.  She  therefore  contends 
with  the  inmost  nature  of  her  associate,  and 
strives  to  divert  him  from  its  influence.  She  de- 
lights in  watching  his  descent,  even  while  she 
weeps  over  his  unhappiness.  His  interest  in 
the  stars  astounds  her,  incapable  as  she  is  of  ris- 
ing above  the  thought  of  her  own  personality. 

It  is  only  during  the  adolescence  and  decline 
of  states  that  woman  becomes  powerful. 
—185— 


DEMOCRACY 


49 

Groups  of  Women 

But  these  antagonisms  manifest  themselves 
differently  on  the  various  social  planes.  The 
woman  of  the  lower  groups  is  less  marked  by  the 
novel  developments  of  "progress,"  for  the  reason 
that  her  relation  to  man  has  always  been  simpler 
and  less  affected.  The  form  and  circumstance 
of  her  life  have  paralleled  an  economic  status 
from  which  her  associate  could  not  free  him- 
self. As  the  weaker  of  the  feminine  orders  she 
has  taken  little  part  in  the  demand  for  enfran- 
chisement, the  gift  being  forced  on  her,  rather, 
by  more  positive  groups.  These  embrace  the 
more  independent  women  above  her,  themselves 
divisible  into  grades.  Among  the  latter  another 
element  has  led  to  great  consequences.  In  the 
extension  of  mechanical  improvement  vast 
changes  have  been  wrought  in  the  living  condi- 
tions of  a  class  of  women  once  bound  by  house- 
hold and  family  detail  almost  as  closely  as  those 
of  the  lower  groups.  So  great  has  been  the  ex- 
tent of  this  emancipation  that  a  new  class  has 
actually  been  created,  a  newly  rich  group  that, 
paradoxically,  need  not  be  rich  at  all  to  enjoy 
—186— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

an  enforced  leisure.  It  consists  of  a  mixture 
of  middle  class  independents  and  wives  of  sal- 
aried men.  This  group  form  is  so  much  freed 
from  the  minutiae  of  life  that  it  can  pursue  ideas, 
and  these  ideas  visualize  themselves  as  political 
and  pseudo-philanthropical  movements,  through 
which  the  promoters  aim  to  make  more  positive 
and  important  their  relation  to  society.  Such 
groups  tend  to  be  increased  in  strength  by  the 
mechanical  achievements  of  man.  True  to  her 
nature,  woman  avails  herself  of  the  opportunity 
thrust  upon  her  and  forms  an  important  branch 
of  the  corsair  group,  and  insists  on  the  exploita- 
tion of  her  "moral"  qualities  by  becoming  a 
"moral"  criterion.  In  all  movements  which  aim 
to  convert  ethics  into  a  negative  virtue  she  is 
found  as  an  active  agent.  She  assumes  this 
"moral"  superiority,  but  begins  to  doubt  the 
authenticity  of  its  basis,  the  maternal  function, 
and  insists  on  the  right  to  control  the  latter.  She 
claims  that  this  function  is,  in  itself,  an  inher- 
ently "moral  one,"  and  that  the  discharge  of  it 
makes  her  super-moral.  None  the  less,  she 
begins  to  question  the  desirability  of  exercising 
it,  and  discovers  many  new  "moral"  prob- 
lems involved  in  the  bearing  of  children,  the  sum 
—187— 


DEMOCRACY 


of  which  amounts  to  a  tacit  demand  to  be  free 
from  the  obligation  altogether.  But  she  still 
insists  on  all  the  privileges  accorded  the  child- 
bearing  woman. 

The  situation  is  complicated  by  the  fact  that 
women  themselves  are  divisible  into  classes  by- 
varying  manifestations  of  the  sex  impulse. 
There  are  women  who  naturally  desire  children; 
there  are  others  in  whom  the  maternal  instinct 
fades  into  a  wish  to  influence  man  without  its 
exercise.  Such  women  reach  a  high  degree  of 
culture,  and  nature  often  gives  them  great  pow- 
ers of  fascination.  Barrenness  among  them  be- 
comes very  conspicuous,  but  they  veil  it  under  a 
"moral"  propaganda,  involving  the  duties  and 
responsibilities  of  maternity.  In  any  society  in 
which  man  declines  as  a  positive  force  such  femi- 
nine rebellions  tend  to  increase  and  so  the  con- 
trasting will-forces  come  to  equilibrium. 

50 

The  Barren  Woman 

The  activity  of  the  barren  woman  in  the  world 
follows  her  innate  character.     She  wishes  to  con- 
trol the  relations  of  men  by  sex,  and  she  also 
desires    to    regulate    the    movements    of    other 
—188— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

women,  and  to  interfere  with  the  vestiges  6f  fam- 
ily life  that  still  persist.  The  poor  are  her 
prey;  the  powerful  must  be  wary  to  escape  her 
machinations.  Her  native  secrecy  makes  the 
spy's  task  congenial.  She  loves  to  trace  the 
peccadillos  of  her  own  sex  and  those  of  her  natu- 
ral enemy,  the  male.  She  transforms  a  simple 
physical  relation  into  a  problem  of  the  ages. 
Special  tribunals  have  been  devised  for  her 
where  she  may  exercise  her  craving  for  lubricity. 
Her  powers  extend  to  the  children  of  others; 
she  is  able  to  drag  them  from  their  parents  on 
sworn  statements,  often  of  questionable  authentic- 
ity. Defense  is  difficult,  the  authority  wielded 
being  extraordinary.  Few  experiences  can  yield 
more  of  the  harrowing  than  a  visit  to  one  of  these 
so-called  children's  courts.  Here  is  to  be  wit- 
nessed the  delight  such  paid  spies  derive  from 
the  exercise  of  their  functions.  It  is  in  the  na- 
ture of  a  revelation  to  observe  the  writhing  of 
impotent  spirits,  dazed  by  a  malice  shrouded  in 
the  gloom  and  majesty  of  law.  The  separation 
of  families  once  cited  against  the  South  in  the 
days  of  slavery  is  here  a  commonplace  event. 

For,   if  woman  is  the  natural  antagonist  of 
man  she  is,  more  particularly,  the  bitter  enemy 
—189— 


DEMOCRACY 


of  her  own  sex,  and  this  fact  has  been  sharpened 
in  modern  times  by  potent  psychological  forces 
that  are  but  little  understood.  Mutual  distrust 
has  always  distinguished  women,  but  between  the 
distinct  divisions  of  tlie  sex  itself  there  is  a 
deeper  hostility.  To  the  mother  woman,  the 
normal  of  her  kind,  since  she  obviously  observes 
the  intent  of  nature,  the  view  of  life  is  modified 
by  her  physical  relation  to  it.  Man,  to  her,  is 
not  only  the  means  by  which  she  achieves  her 
object;  he  is  also  the  instrument  by  which  she 
finds  a  necessary  shelter  from  the  world.  Her 
regard  for  him  springs  from  this.  Her  love  de- 
pends on  the  extent  of  his  adhesion  to  his  duty. 
Maternity  marks  her  passion;  her  mate  is  also 
a  child  for  whom  she  cares.  Virtue,  with  her, 
lies  in  maintaining  the  ascendancy  of  the  mater- 
nal. She  regards  her  partner  favourably  only  to 
the  degree  that  he  proves  faithful  to  the  obliga- 
tion he  has  taken. 

The  barren  woman,  or  superwoman  aims  at 
a  diff'erent  object.  She  desires  to  hold  man  by 
a  simpler  means,  and  with  what  seems  a  simpler 
rule.  His  imagination  becomes  the  weak  spot; 
he  is  assailed  by  suggestion.  This  is  a  type  that 
has  always  played  a  broad  part  in  the  world,  but 
—190— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

under  novel  conditions  it  has  discovered  new 
forms  of  power.  In  its  most  brilliant  aspect  it 
has  been  contrasted  with  genius  in  man,  but 
where  genius  is  creative,  the  other  is  destructive. 
By  it,  all  the  nobler  masculine  impulses  are  sub- 
ject to  attack,  for  the  members  of  this  insidious 
class  can  discover  no  other  object  in  life  than 
the  fleeting  satisfaction,  often  illusory,  of  a 
primal  power.  If  nature  has  often  made  them 
sterile,  it  has  balanced  the  imperfection  with  all 
the  subtleties  of  grace.  During  decadent  epochs 
they  always  appear  in  increased  numbers,  as  if 
some  super-social  force  impelled  them  forward 
as  warning  signs  of  impending  calamity. 

51 

The  Third  Sex 

Between  the  mother  and  the  neuter  there  is 
natural  war,  and  the  latter  is  usually  the 
stronger.  The  environment  of  modern  life 
favours  her,  and  her  antagonist  is  thrown  on  the 
defensive.  The  war  leads  to  a  vast  over-ac- 
centuation of  sex,  accompanied  by  its  partial 
nullification.  A  real  neutral  species  comes  into 
the  world,  to  which  no  definite  analogy  can  be 
drawn  from  the  past.  Expressed  in  terms  of 
—191— 


DEMOCRACY 


mathematics,  it  may  be  described  as  that  of  a 
mean  between  the  positive  and  negative  sexes. 
A  transient  genus,  among  which  women  have 
no  sex  and  men  no  masculinity.  These  strange 
individuals  experience  the  sensations  of  eroti- 
cism by  purely  mental  processes.  In  them  nat- 
ural impulses  have  all  but  disappeared,  and  are 
replaced  by  inexplicable  longings  that  baffle  and 
control  their  lives.  Their  existence  is  one  of 
suppressed  frenzy,  displaying  itself  in  a  vicious 
deception  that  speaks  only  in  terms  of  a  vitiated 
morality.  It  is  to  this  class  that  moving  pic- 
tures of  a  certain  type  have  become  a  spiritual 
food.  In  the  spectacle  of  exaggerated  allure- 
ment they  discover  a  satisfaction  not  otherwise 
to  be  experienced.  They  feel  and  display  their 
new  power  by  becoming  ascendant  over  the  more 
ordered  class  whose  lives  follow  rational  paths. 
From  them  come  many  curious  reformers, 
aesthetic  oddities,  bewildered  illuminati — most 
dangerous,  the  spy  personnel  that  preys  upon  the 
weak.  They  are  true  children  of  Lilith,  but  if 
she  was  without  soul,  they,  alas,  are  also  without 
bodies.  They  are  ghouls,  whose  joy  comes  from 
dead  dreams. 

—192— 


Af^D  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

52 

The  Sex  Struggle. 

The  sex  struggle  has  taken  a  new  form.  Un- 
der the  extraordinary  conditions  now  prevailing 
in  the  world  it  becomes  possible  to  force  and  hold 
man  into  an  inferior  position  regardless  of  his 
will,  by  reason  of  his  fanatical  allegiance  to  the 
social  contract.  Particularly  is  this  true  among 
the  lower  groups,  in  whom  the  aggressive  spirit 
has  fallen  to  a  negligible  point.  Women  thus 
have  reason  to  harbour  hope  of  attaining  even 
more  remarkable  authority  than  they  have  today, 
but  their  activity  will  lead  to  consequences  little 
dreamed  of  by  the  thoughtless.  Epochs  in 
which  such  movements  appear  must  be  viewed  as 
extraordinary,  decadent  and  lacking  in  equili- 
brium— periods  destined  to  pass. 

53 

The  Man  of  Genius 

There  are,  however,  men  of  a  singular  nature 
upon  whom  the  forces  that  affect  other  men  seem 
to  operate  without  result.  The  vast  energies  of 
the  political  and  economic  worlds  slip  by  them, 
leaving  them  untouched.  The  rise  of  ordinary 
—193— 


DEMOCRACY 


men  and  the  aggressive  demands  of  women  are 
alike  lost  on  them.  Living,  as  it  were,  charmed 
lives,  they  partake  of  the  common  life  like  mem- 
bers of  a  superior  and  alien  race,  whom  the  flit- 
ting panorama  only  momentarily  diverts  from  a 
realm  in  which  they  survey  more  pleasing  vistas. 

Of  striking  personality  and  extreme  egoism, 
such  men  display  an  astonishing  aptness  for 
whatever  they  incline  to  undertake.  With  an 
extraordinary  capacity  for  absorbing  knowledge 
they  join  a  faculty  of  intuition  by  which  their 
mastery  of  a  given  subject  follows  swiftly  any 
grasp  of  its  basic  facts.  Given  one  link  in  a 
chain  of  ideas,  they  quickly  find  the  others,  and 
even  add  to  them. 

Many  definitions  of  genius  have  been  at- 
tempted, some  based  on  rational  ideas,  others, 
and  these  are  more  frequently  met  with,  en- 
deavouring to  connect  it  with  the  laws  governing 
mediocrity,  that  divinity  of  equality.  In  indus- 
trial societies  it  has  been  defined  "as  an  infinite 
capacity  for  taking  pains,"  an  explanation  very 
popular,  for  the  reason  that  it  implies  a  genuflec- 
tion to  the  god  of  toil  and  success.  The  thing 
is  not,  of  course,  explained  by  the  definition.  Il 
^194— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

should  be  said,  rather,  that  the  ends  of  genius  are 
attained  by  an  infinite  capacity  for  understand- 
ing, and  an  infinite  facility.  The  man  of  genius 
sees  beyond  the  range  of  other  men,  and  ac- 
complishes easily  what  to  others  is  an  affair  of 
great  difficulty.  Labour,  with  him,  remains  sec- 
ondary to  introspection,  and  is  indulged  in  only 
at  feverish  moments.  The  endless  rush  and 
striving  of  the  inferior  man  he  passes  over  with 
contempt,  and  is  equally  critical  of  the  superior, 
when  superiority  boasts  a  material  basis.  Above 
all  else,  he  is  self-confident,  and  has  little  re- 
spect for  the  opinions  around  him,  convinced,  as 
he  is,  that  they  are  erroneous. 

Apparently  a  synthesis  of  the  intellectual 
world,  the  man  of  genius  is  no  part  of  the  intel- 
lectual group  that  supports  what  has  been  termed 
the  dominant  class.  He  more  usually  takes  um- 
brage at  both,  and  criticizes  them  as  mercilessly 
as  they  criticize  the  lower.  Such  men  seldom 
show  interest  in  power  of  itself.  The  will  to 
power  in  them  expresses  itself  as  thought,  in 
contradistinction  to  knowledge,  popularly  con- 
ceived— that  is,  encyclopedic  culture,  adhesion 
to  accredited  forms,  the  everlasting  obeisance  of 
—195— 


DEMOCRACY 


mediocrity  to  formula.  They  cannot  touch  the 
most  ordinary  theme  without  hitting  on  some- 
thing new. 

Genius  naturally  gravitates  towards  aristo- 
cratic associations,  finding  in  them  a  certain  re- 
gard for  its  peculiarities,  and  respect  for  its 
moral  independence,  since  in  this  environment 
there  is  a  broader  view  of  the  ethical  ideas  to 
which  the  inferior  shows  such  deference.  It 
also  finds  here  the  atmosphere  of  ease  and  cul- 
ture that  it  forever  seeks,  and  is  encouraged  to 
display  its  gifts. 

The  fact  that  genius  may  manifest  itself  in 
any  station  of  life,  from  the  humblest  to  the 
highest,  is  often  advanced  as  a  reason  for  claim- 
ing it  to  be  essentially  democratic,  but  this  no- 
tion is  not  supported  by  the  facts.  Society  is  so 
artificial  a  thing  that  it  offers  no  true  criteria 
of  the  standing  of  individuals,  save  as  its  in- 
stitutions harmonize  with  the  phenomena  of  will 
or  have  favoured  the  breeding  of  specific  types. 
A  dominant  caste  will  always  attempt  to  continue 
its  own  cardinal  traits,  and  these  will  relate 
especially  to  the  will  to  power,  but  the  formula 
does  not,  evidently,  cover  the  origin  of  genius, 
any  more  than  do  the  indiscriminate  crosses  of 
—196— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

the  inferior.  The  precise  reason  for  the  singu- 
lar balance  of  mental  gifts  in  these  characters  is 
still  a  mystery  to  science.  Nevertheless,  their 
extremely  egoistic  traits  must  identify  them  with 
the  more  exclusive  realm  of  the  dominant  group 
in  any  coherent  society.  There  is  always  in 
them  a  profound  and  unconcealed  aversion  to 
mediocrity,  that  god  of  the  obscure. 

Their  horizon  embraces  nature  and  man,  but 
these  they  conceive  as  ideas,  and  to  fathom  the 
quality  of  them  seems  an  inborn  craving.  As  a 
result,  they  often  foresee  tendencies  which  do 
not  appear  in  the  deductions  of  science  until 
long  after.  This  is  not  mere  imaginative  specu- 
lation with  them  but  the  result  of  a  naivete  to- 
wards the  world  that  makes  them  supremely  im- 
pressionable to  its  phenomena.  Genius  is  an  ex- 
clusive masculine  quality,  representing  man  in 
his  highest  manifestation.  Woman  cannot  rise 
above  sex,  and  is  incapable  of  that  impersonal- 
ity that  is  essential  to  the  mind  that  seeks  to  con- 
template truth. 

Within  elementary   societies   such  characters 

play  a  difficult  part.     They  are,  to  begin  with, 

moral  outcasts,  refusing  utterly  to  abide  by  the 

ethical  pronunciamentos  of  the  corsairs,  and  re- 

—197— 


DEMOCRACY 


maining,  at  all  times,  a  law  unto  themselves. 
When  endured  at  all — that  is,  after  a  transient 
recognition  has  been  accorded  some  achievement 
to  which  the  lesser  can  but  defer — the  moment 
of  tolerance  is  succeeded  by  a  pressure  but  too 
briefly  relaxed.  They  are  looked  on  as  men 
marred  by  a  species  of  insanity,  and  receive, 
therefore,  much  the  same  sort  of  respect  that  the 
ancients  accorded  the  mad. 

In  mass  democracies,  the  phenomena  of  genius 
is  not  frequent,  nor  is  it  desired  or  sought.  In 
such  societies  indeed  the  activity  of  such  types 
may  be  artificially  limited,  or  even  suppressed 
altogether  as  a  consequence  of  their  natural  con- 
tempt for  the  forms  popularly  favoured  or  au- 
thorized by  the  corsair  class.  Indeed,  what  of- 
ten passes  for  genius  in  such  societies  is  scarcely 
more  than  a  clever  mediocrity  which  repopular- 
izes  the  once  popular.  The  weak  dread  novel 
ideas,  for  they  compel  a  change  in  their  concept 
of  themselves,  and  of  the  world. 


-198— 


THE  RATIONALE  OF  POWER 


VII 

THE  RATIONALE  OF  POWER 
54 

Revolution 

In  democratic  societies  the  forces  of  antag- 
onistic purpose  express  themselves  chiefly  in 
specific  political  movements,  but  these,  in  turn, 
simply  reflect  the  ideas  in  the  underlying  moral- 
ity. The  latter  marks  the  limits  within  which  the 
mass  mind  acts.  Only  those  movements  get 
anywhere  which  harmonize  with  the  common 
ideas.  Revolutionary  propaganda  is  possible 
only  when  it  includes  the  basic  ideas  that  are 
popularly  held. 

The  struggle  in  mass  societies  is  not  altogether 
between  holding  and  non-holding  groups.  Pri- 
marily the  interests  of  all  the  powerful  groups 
are  similar,  but  differences  arise  that  lead  to 
sharp  conflicts.  Friction  follows  divergence  as 
to  the  precise  method  of  using  the  economic  ma- 
chine. Except  in  the  case  of  genius,  there  is, 
—201— 


DEMOCRACY 


among    the    higher    groups,    consideration    for 
power  alone,  and  men  and  states  are  measured 
by  the  degree  to  which  they  manifest  it.     The 
great  struggles  in  society  are  civil  wars  between 
such  types.     It   is   only  during  so-called   revo- 
lutionary periods  that  there  appears  to  be  a  de- 
cline    of    aggressiveness    between    the    upper 
groups.     The  common   danger  draws  them  to- 
gether.    Revolutions    are    fruitless    save    when 
these    groups    have    experienced    deterioration. 
They  thus  offer  a  chance  for  exceptional  indi- 
viduals of  the  lower  group  to  force  their  way  to 
eminence,  for  the  resistance  above  is  slackened. 
The  primal  aim  is  always  mastery,  and  this 
implies  the  subordination  of  the  weaker.     Even 
when  there  is  no  visible  revolution  there  is  al- 
ways a  persistent  drive  towards  control  of  the 
law,  its  nature  and  execution,  and  a  consequent 
interest  in  the  personnel  of  legislative  and  politi- 
cal bodies.     Through  these,  weaker  groups  are 
restrained  from  full  participation  in  the  fruits  of 
power.     They  are  held  to  enterprises  that  are 
not   inimical   to   the   interests   of  the   superior. 
But  there  are  times  when  vast  undertakings  must 
be  consummated,  even  beyond  the  power  of  the 
highest,   and   then   co-operation   must  be   used. 
—202— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

The  narrow  line  between  the  Socialist  state  and 
the  modern  commonwealth  here  clearly  stands 
out. 

55 

Political  Leadership 

In  the  political  world  all  leadership  must  ac- 
cord with  the  mediocre  concepts  of  the  inferior 
groups.  The  characters  who  play  their  parts 
within  it  are  of  a  type  that  can  sympathetically 
entertain  the  viewpoint  of  those  whom  they  domi- 
nate. They  are  men  thoroughly  conscious  of 
the  power  of  sentiment  and  are  often  themselves 
swayed  by  it.  Obviously,  men  so  swayed  are 
the  only  sincere  proponents  of  the  propaganda 
employed,  but  they  defer  at  all  times  to  the  more 
cynical  and  discerning;  that  is,  to  those  who  have 
grasped  the  secret  of  converting  specific  interests 
into  terms  of  general  sentiment.  Greatness,  as 
a  human  attribute,  cannot  be  granted  the  mere 
politician,  for  his  sole  claim  to  genius  lies  in  a 
certain  acumen  in  gauging  mass  prejudices  and 
mass  situations.  Exceptional  individuals  of 
course,  sometimes  do  appear.  But  once  their 
native  egoism  has  been  sensed,  their  destruction 
follows  swiftly.  Nevertheless,  broad  conse- 
—203— 


DEMOCRACY 


quences  are  sometimes  effected  by  them  before 
their  fall. 

It  is  only  when  the  affairs  of  a  given  state  force 
relations  with  other  states  that  men  to  whom 
true  greatness  may  be  conceded  manifest  them- 
selves; these  are  rarely  politicians.  Foreign  re- 
lations, so-called,  are  determined  by  men  of 
broad  knowledge,  devoid  of  illusions,  cold  and 
unyielding,  except  to  superior  power.  Save 
at  important  junctures  the  connection  between 
the  upper  groups  and  the  politician  is  psycho- 
logical only.  Normally,  politics  is  carried  on  in 
the  more  hospitable  mental  atmosphere  of  the 
lower  groups.  Its  intellectual  character  is 
shaped  by  the  persistent  labours  of  corsairs,  and 
politicians  are  too  lacking  in  reflective  power  to 
be  able  to  distinguish  the  nature  of  the  influences 
surrounding  them.  Elemental  passions  har- 
monize with  the  nature  of  politics.  It  quickly 
responds  to  like  and  dislike  as  actuating  princi- 
ples. Love  and  hate  waken  it  to  life,  hate  more 
especially,  so  nearly  allied  to  envy,  the  uncon- 
scious concomitant  of  all  inferiority. 

During  power  conflicts  among  the  higher 
groups,  the  verdict  may  be  left  to  the  lower.  At 
such  times  society  is  at  war  with  itself.     Control 

— 204r- 


AISD  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

of  electorates  then  calls  for  extended  and  con- 
centrated labour.  Uncertainty  adds  to  the  inter- 
est; political  characters  select  sides,  their  judg- 
ment identifying  their  intelligence.  During 
such  periods  the  vast  extent  of  the  franchise 
privilege  aids  the  stronger  and  more  daring,  for 
when  doubt  exists  novel  and  irrelevant  issues 
may  be  pushed  forward,  championed  by  popular 
individuals.  The  mass  divides  into  smaller 
groups,  absorbed  in  the  fortunes  of  factions 
newly  aligned.  Men  of  real  force  are  often  dis- 
posed of  in  this  way,  their  fire  and  energy  dif- 
fused in  unimportant  contests. 

But  the  tendency  in  democratic  societies  is  in 
the  direction  of  more  subtle  coercive  measures, 
and  these  aim  to  lower  the  quality  and  power  of 
the  law-maker.  They  imply  his  limitation  as 
a  free  agent  in  the  expression  of  his  views;  as  a 
moral  factor  by  negativing  any  personal  acute- 
ness  that  may  have  distinguished  him  in  the  legis- 
jlative  struggle.  This  trend  involves  the  sub- 
mission to  electorates  of  legislative  questions; 
the  right  of  reviewing  the  actions  of  officials;  the 
power  to  abruptly  terminate  official  tenure. 
These  systems  greatly  affect  the  general  charac- 
ter of  the  individuals  who  aspire  to  public  emi- 
—205— 


DEMOCRACY 


nence,  for  the  strong  man,  of  conviction  and  in- 
dependence, will  not  participate  in  a  struggle 
where  his  position  is  to  be  one  neither  of  trust 
nor  of  honor.  Inferiors  only  will  take  part 
where  personal  merit  and  integrity  are  of  no  con- 
sequence. Under  such  conditions  the  general 
temper  is  governed  by  organized  propaganda, 
the  voters  merely  echoing  ideas  that  have  been 
made  popular  among  them.  Propaganda  be- 
comes the  ruling  power.  Its  impersonality  adds 
to  its  effectiveness. 

There  follows  the  natural  deduction,  sup- 
ported by  all  experience,  that  the  legislative  per- 
sonnel in  such  societies  tends  to  a  low  moral 
standard,  nor  can  it  be  otherwise.  Apparently 
the  representatives  of  electorates,  the  law-makers 
are,  in  fact,  nothing  more  than  mirrors  that  re- 
flect decisions  already  made  by  the  powers  con- 
trolling the  mental  world  of  the  electors.  Aware 
of  these  secret  tribunals,  private  conviction  is 
put  in  abeyance;  the  acts  of  the  legislature  are 
regulated  by  the  intent  of  the  will  behind  the 
propaganda.  The  power  of  the  corsair  under 
these  conditions  is  too  obvious  to  be  remarked. 


—206— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

56 

"Educating"  the  Masses 

Men  of  great  resources  may  privately  encour- 
age specific  corsair  groups,  or  even,  when  suffi- 
ciently wealthy,  undertake  great  changes  in  the 
morals  of  states.  These  movements  are  anarchi- 
cal in  basis,  since  they  are  not  founded  on  any 
rational  psychological  principle,  but  merely 
voice  the  private  views  of  some  sombre  or  pecul- 
iar individual.  This  extension  of  private  power 
offers  a  novel  means  of  attack  on  groups  other- 
wise unassailable.  Their  property  and  position 
may  be  outlawed  morally  and  destroyed,  because 
incompatible  with  a  transient  ethic.  Public  ex- 
penditure, the  source  of  all  exchange,  becomes 
subject  to  unforeseen  regulation.  Commercial 
groups  are  enabled  to  prey  on  each  other  in  a 
novel  and  insidious  way.  The  income  of  some 
may  be  extinguished  or  diverted  to  channels  con- 
trolled by  rivals.  Economic  war  thus  evokes 
moral  propaganda,  and  finds  in  it  a  potent  ally. 

The  character  of  the  individuals  composing 

the  dominant  groups  in  commercial  societies,  and 

the  nature  of  the  means  by  which  they  have  risen 

to  power,  encourage  all  the  tendencies  described. 

—207— 


DEMOCRACY 


The  commercial  mind  cannot  get  away  from  the 
principle  of  expediency;  it  surveys  man  and  the 
world  merely  as  producing  engines.  The  indi- 
vidual is  regarded  as  an  object  of  value  only  in 
so  far  as  he  participates  in  social  labour,  and  on 
the  most  economical  basis.  The  very  abstemi- 
ousness of  some  individuals  of  the  superior  type 
often  develops  in  them  an  unconscious  aversion 
to  any  act  that  does  not  relate  itself  to  the  mate- 
rial details  of  existence.  They  dream  of  labour 
made  into  a  perfect  producing  agent,  and  capable 
of  no  motion  foreign  to  that  end.  The  diminu- 
tion of  such  labour's  wants  must,  over  a  period 
of  time,  lead  to  a  lowering  of  the  expense  of 
maintenance.  The  withdrawal  of  temptations  to 
extravagance  is  thus  desirable,  since  a  cheapen- 
ing of  the  labour  product  will  ultimately  follow. 
Although  usually  unexpressed,  such  reasons  are 
constant  concepts  in  the  purely  commercial  mind 
and  play  a  part  in  the  philanthropical  diversions 
of  great  individuals.  There  enters,  also,  the 
profound  effect  of  sadism,  reflecting  an  innate 
hatred  of  pleasure. 

There  is  yet  another  phase  of  this  subject,  and 
one  more  relevant  in  cases  of  genuine  benevo- 
lence   of   intention.     As   he    rises    abruptly   to 
—208— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

wealth  from  narrow  origins,  the  will  to  power 
impels  the  recipient  to  apply  his  means  along 
channels  that,  to  him,  seem  abstract  and  there- 
fore altruistic.  With  no  conception  of  the  beau- 
tiful, beyond  an  apprehension  of  it  as  something 
infinitely  dangerous,  he  seeks  a  moral  course 
through  which  to  express  his  power.  The  habits 
of  inferiors  are  sufficiently  diverse  to  supply  a 
range  for  such  essays.  He  also,  by  this  process, 
controls  equals  who  find  solace  in  the  form  of 
pleasure  upon  which  he  has  centred  his  indigna- 
tion. His  reward,  in  the  event  of  triumph,  is 
double:  there  is  the  satisfaction  inspired  by  the 
consciousness  that  he  can  arbitrarily  modify  the 
conduct  of  his  inferiors,  and  a  colder  and  deeper 
joy  attends  the  moral  mastering  of  his  equals. 
These  tendencies  are  elementary  outreachings 
towards  an  expression  of  the  philanthropist's  in- 
ner nature,  and  reveal  his  soul  in  its  grim  naked- 
ness. 

The  social  machinery  necessary  to  the  success 
of  these  demonstrations  of  individual  power  also 
lends  itself  to  other  purposes.  The  inaugura- 
tion of  specific  inhibitions  compels  the  simultane- 
ous creation  of  involved  systems  of  espionage, 
the  powers  of  which  may  be  later  diverted  to  any 
—209— 


DEMOCRACY 


other  enterprise.  Distrust  and  suspicion  become 
universal  phenomena,  and  the  mass-man  cringes 
before  a  force  that  follows  his  every  movement 
and  inflicts  its  penalties  with  pitiless  inflexibility. 
The  creation  in  this  manner  of  artificial 
crimes,  and  the  legal  recognition  of  grave  public 
off'ences  in  acts  of  personal  immorality,  when 
combined  with  a  developed  system  of  espionage, 
may  serve  as  a  weapon  against  individuals  whom 
it  would  be  difficult  to  reach  otherwise.  Such  a 
system  may  furnish  a  pretext  for  abrupt  and  un- 
expected access  to  private  records,  otherwise  pro- 
tected by  the  fundamental  principles  of  law, 
or  it  may  eff"ect  a  sudden  detention  of  the  per- 
son. So  thorough  has  been  the  development  of 
the  public  attitude  towards  certain  off"enses,  par- 
ticularly where  they  relate  to  sex,  that  when  a 
charge  is  made  it  overwhelms  the  accused.  His 
private  character  may  never  recover  from  the 
taint,  and  at  the  moment  of  accusation  all  his 
social  rights  may  automatically  cease.  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  murderers  so  often  attack  the 
reputations  of  those  whom  they  have  slain,  pub- 
lic sentiment  applauding  an  act  the  basis  of 
which  it  accepts  as  sound.  Only  individuals  of 
great  power  can  withstand  such  attacks.  They 
—210— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

thus  favour  the  ascendancy  of  the  higher  sort  of 
man,  for  the  inferior,  recognizing  his  own  help- 
lessness, seldom  offers  resistance.  But  psycho- 
logically, the  use  of  espionage  is  a  symptom  of 
weakness,  for  it  indicates  apprehension,  another 
word  for  fear.  History  marks  the  phenomena 
as  an  unfailing  sign  of  approaching  disaster. 
The  reason  for  this  is  so  simple  that  it  should  be 
obvious.  Power,  fixed  and  sustained  by  cogent 
individuals,  is  always  bold,  confident  and  daring. 
The  truly  superior  recognize  the  perpetual  immi- 
nence of  danger,  but  are  certain  of  their  ability 
to  master  it.  To  accept,  as  essential,  the  risk  of 
circumstance  is  the  candour  of  the  strong.  It  is 
from  this  spirit  that  magnanimity  is  derived: 
a  moral  quality  only  possible  to  the  great. 

Transitory  though  these  "moral"  tendencies 
may  be  in  the  United  States,  they  are  vyrorthy 
of  note,  for  they  convey  an  idea  of  underlying 
social  conditions,  and  define  clearly  the  extent  of 
will-decline  in  the  nation.  With  the  appearance 
of  stronger  intellectual  groups  greater  tolerance 
and  frankness  are  to  be  expected.  Their  influ- 
ence always  brings  in  cultural  epochs,  during 
which  natural  impulses  have  a  rational  sway. 
Art  awakens  a  true  concept  of  Nature  and  the 
—211— 


DEMOCRACY 


world,  and  the  gap  between  the  upper  and  lower 
classes  leaves  each  freer  to  follow  its  own  im- 
pulses. The  slave  overseer  has  always  been  a 
harsh  master. 

57 

The  Decline  of  Legislatures 

In  the  political  world,  the  gradual  submer- 
gence of  individualistic  representation  and  its  re- 
placement by  organized  propaganda  has  led  to 
the  disappearance  of  the  fundamental  traditional 
rights  of  the  lower  groups.  Each  principle 
involved  has  passed,  in  turn,  under  a  moral  ban. 
There  is  now  little  opposition  to  this, — a  result 
of  the  persistent  decline  of  will,  due  to  the  con- 
stant pressure.  It  is  worthy  of  note,  when  there 
is  such  a  gradual  lapse  of  theoretical  democracy, 
that  the  last  vestiges  of  it  linger  in  the  higher 
representative  bodies ;  those,  in  fact,  less  directly 
chosen,  of  longer  official  tenure,  and  more  remote 
from  the  immediately  selected  groups.  The 
cause  of  this  is  not  difficult  to  fathom,  for  the 
members  of  these  higher  bodies  were,  from  the 
first,  of  a  more  responsible  and  assertive  class, 
and  hence  morally  superior — usually  men  of 
wealth  and  independent  position,  not  bound  by 
—212— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

circumstances  to  seek  the  offices  they  occupied. 
As  a  resuh,  while  always  conservative  to  an  ex- 
treme degree  towards  economic  questions,  there 
was,  and  is,  among  them,  the  natural  independ- 
ence inseparable  from  their  superior  caste. 
From  them  there  has  been  a  certain  resistance  to 
the  extensive  propaganda  forces  that  have  elimi- 
nated their  lower  associates  as  responsible  moral 
agents.  But  now  even  this  higher  group  tends 
to  fall,  for  the  system  of  indirect  selection  gradu- 
ally gives  way,  thus  opening  the  path  to  high 
office  to  less  courageous  characters,  men  more 
easily  moulded  by  corsair  influence.  None  the 
less,  in  the  last  stages  of  a  representative  system, 
it  stands  longest  against  the  engulfing  tide  of 
mediocre  irresponsibilities.  The  phenomena  is 
not  confined  to  democratic  systems,  for  in  monar- 
chical orders  the  invasion  of  mediate  classes  has 
also  usually  been  followed  by  periods  of  national 
melancholy  and  materialism. 

58 

Impediments  to  Power 

Because  the  avenues  of  influence  are  so  varied 
that  success  would  appear  to  be  always  a  cer- 
tainty, it  does  not  follow  that  checks  do  not  inter- 
—213— 


DEMOCRACY 


fere  with  the  plans  of  master  groups.  The  com- 
plexity of  the  modern  state,  the  numerous  minor 
castes  that  are  constantly  struggling  to  play  some 
part  in  the  general  exercise  of  authority,  the  un- 
expected appearance  of  rare  individuals,  ob- 
structive of  plans  in  contemplation,  are  elements 
that  affect  the  situation.  At  times,  they  lead  to 
the  cautious  abandonment  of  a  line  of  action,  oi 
unexpected  disappointment  from  a  popular  ver- 
dict. Such  results  are  healthy,  for  they  give 
confidence  to  the  lower  orders,  assuring  them  of 
the  good  faith  underlying  the  system  they  sup- 
port and  sustaining  the  theory  of  democracy. 
Such  setbacks,  too,  are  often  helpful  to  the  supe- 
rior, who  are  far  from  a  perfection  that  cannot 
err.  Restrained  or  delayed  in  the  accomplish- 
ment of  one  purpose,  they  may  throw  their  en- 
ergy into  another  more  matured.  They  always 
have  the  advantage  of  being  able  to  follow  a 
fixed  policy,  which,  persisting  over  a  long  period 
of  time,  eventually  succeeds,  for  the  opposition 
of  the  lower  is,  as  a  rule,  sporadic,  passionate, 
and  therefore  not  lasting. 

These  conditions  are  most  prevalent  where  a 
certain  vitality  still  exists  among  unsettled  and 
divided    upper   groups,    with    passing   enmities 
—214— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

leading  a  faction  to  side  occasionally  with  the 
inferior.  As  society  becomes  more  stable  these 
differences  languish  or  are  satisfied,  the  machin- 
ery of  propaganda  and  legislation  acts  more  har- 
moniously, and  the  executive  branches  of  the 
government  grow  more  positive  and  important. 
So  pronounced  becomes  this  movement  that  the 
masses  eventually  turn  to  administrative  leader- 
ship rather  than  to  that  of  legislative  bodies. 
The  former  is  positive  and  dramatic.  It  ap- 
peals to  the  popular  imagination.  Weakness  al- 
ways defers  to  strength  and  has  for  it  an  involun- 
tary respect,  even  though  this  be  tinctured  with 
fear.  In  moments  of  national  gravity,  nothing 
remains  of  governmental  forms  but  the  upper. 
Any  effort  to  limit  the  prerogatives  of  the  latter 
is  resented  by  popular  clamour. 

59 

The  Nature  of  Revolt 

The  word  "revolution"  is  greatly  misused. 
Often,  comparatively  innocuous  movements  are 
so  labelled,  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  are 
only  minor  changes  advocated  by  interest  or 
enthusiasm  and  are  in  no  sense  antagonistic  to 
existing  tradition  or  order.  This  confusion  is 
—215— 


DEMOCRACY 


due  to  the  intensive  employment  of  sentiment  in 
moving  the  mass  mind,  the  average  man  yielding 
to  the  effects  of  this  impulse  unconsciously. 
The  profound  significance  of  personal  or  group 
interest  escapes  him  altogether.  Sentiment  also 
accords  with  his  moral  view  of  the  world,  and 
causes  him  to  observe  with  feeling  any  effort 
that  may  change  it.  To  identify  an  idea  with 
revolution  is,  to  him,  equivalent  to  condemning 
it,  the  question  actually  involved  being  given  no 
consideration.  Actual  revolution  is  an  affair  of 
slow  growth,  at  once  its  weakness  and  its  strength. 
No  movement  is  genuinely  of  this  nature  that 
does  not  include  a  change  in  fundamental  social 
concepts  and  the  destruction,  or  replacement,  of 
established  ruling  groups.  In  modem  society 
Socialism  alone  measures  up  to  this  standard. 
Anarchism  is  nothing  more  than  individualism 
gone  mad,  and  merits  no  attention. 

Imminence  of  revolution  often  leads  to  des- 
perate diversions,  for  the  really  intelligent  ap- 
preciate the  gravity  of  the  situation  at  hand,  and 
the  portentous  possibilities  with  which  the  future 
may  be  fraught.  Extreme  measures  are  often 
tried;  for  example,  war,  or  vast  luxury  in  public 
works.  These  may  stay  the  torrent  for  a  time, 
—216— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

but  unless  the  moral  forces  of  the  old  order  have 
the  virility  that  comes  from  rational  and  solid 
foundations,  foundations  barren  of  illusion,  the 
hour  of  force  can  only  be  delayed,  and  the  final 
issue  must  fall  to  the  decision  of  arms. 

During  revolutionary  periods,  when  an  estab- 
lished order  is  fighting  for  its  life,  the  immediate 
problem  of  the  victors — where  these  are  the 
revolutionists — is  to  satisfy  the  ardour  of  their 
partisans.  The  great  promises  made,  the  scope 
of  the  hopes  spread  broadcast,  call  for  quick 
amelioratives,  for  in  the  excited  state  induced 
by  dramatic  scenes  strange  characters  may  enter 
and  threaten  the  success  of  those  who  have  tri- 
umphed. Great  coups  are  possible,  having  for 
their  object  the  accomplishment  of  privately  cher- 
ished ends.  All  is  uncertain;  the  air  is  vibrant 
with  fearful  rumours.  The  masters  of  the  old 
have  passed  and  the  new  have  not  yet  made 
themselves  secure.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  the 
attention  of  adherents  is  so  often  turned  to  the 
persons  and  tangible  property  of  the  fallen,  the 
latter  being  sacrificed  to  the  passions  of  the 
lowest.  Nor  is  this  course  unreasonable,  for  all 
revolutionists  discover,  in  the  moment  of  victory, 
that  they  have  nothing  to  offer  their  followers 
—217— 


DEMOCRACY 


but  a  change  of  names  and  a  modified  system  of 
labour.  They  learn,  abruptly,  that  the  vast  sur- 
plus revenue  looked  for  is  inadequate  utterly  to 
meet  the  demands  of  an  eager  multitude  that 
has  so  long  coveted  what  they  have  not  under- 
stood. The  surrender  of  the  upper  caste  to 
them,  the  practical  outlawry  of  the  latter,  saves 
the  new  leaders  from  the  effects  of  a  disappoint- 
ment that  might  redound  against  themselves. 
They  leave  the  lesser  to  tire  themselves  out  by 
the  very  force  of  fury.  In  the  respite  thus  ob- 
tained tlie  beginnings  of  a  new  order  may  be  de- 
veloped, or  differences  between  ambitious  parti- 
sans fought  out. 

The  elementary  feelings  that  then  glut  them- 
selves with  blood  and  loot  are  the  pent  up  emo- 
tions, long  repressed,  that  are  always  present  in 
the  inferior  mind.  Envy  and  hate  satiate  them- 
selves for  imaginary  wrongs;  propaganda 
silences  every  noble  impulse  and  justifies  every 
excess.  This  repletion  is,  to  the  inferior  orders, 
the  fruit  of  victory  and  is  all  they  derive  from  it. 
It  is  not  without  value,  even  though  transient. 
So  intense  is  their  gratification  that  the  effects 
linger  for  generations,  effectually  concealing  the 
futility  of  hopes  long  cherished.  This  is  the 
—218— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

menace  that  hangs  over  each  ruling  caste,  and 
explains  the  often  remorseless  measures  adopted 
to  hold  back  the  revolutionary  spirit.  In  these 
antagonisms  neither  wants  to  yield  anything. 
Compromise  fails.  This  is  due  to  the  impossi- 
bility of  making  an  agreement  that  does  not  call 
for  the  sacrifice  of  essential  numbers  of  the  rul- 
ing class,  to  make  way  for  new  units.  It  is  clear 
that  the  personnel  of  such  groups  must,  perforce, 
be  limited. 

Revolutions,  once  at  the  apex  of  success,  un- 
dergo swift  alteration  in  purpose  and  idea.  The 
group  of  propagandists  to  whose  labours  the  con- 
clusion is  due  find  themselves  facing  characters 
that  had  lurked  in  the  background,  awaiting  the 
critical  and  opportune  moment  when  their  own 
plans  might  be  pushed  forward.  With  revolu- 
tion as  a  watchword,  tliey  attack  the  ordinary 
men  who  still  cherish  the  illusion  that  they  are,  at 
last,  on  the  threshold  of  great  achievement.  The 
new  group  boldly  essays  to  dominate  the  seething 
mass  about  it,  labouring  to  recast  society  along 
lines  favourable  to  its  ends.  This  is  the  reason 
that  such  struggles  always  result  in  disappoint- 
ment to  those  immediately  concerned;  the  tempo- 
rary excitement  gives  them  their  only  solace. 
—219— 


DEMOCRACY 


The  enthusiasm  characteristic  of  revolution- 
ary epochs  is  a  sovereign  force  in  compelling 
the  lower  to  accept  new — and  often — more  re- 
lentless masters.  To  question  the  integrity  of 
the  revolution  becomes  a  supreme  crime,  and  the 
inferior  is  bound  again  in  the  very  bonds  he  has 
dreamed  of  seeing  on  others. 

That  physical  force  must  be  appealed  to  at 
last  does  not  imply  the  necessary  fall  of  an  older 
ruling  caste.  It  may  prove  equal  to  the  crisis 
by  which  it  is  faced  and  beat  down  the  assailing 
forces.  These  struggles  are  of  unmatched  fury 
and  bitterness,  the  effects  sometimes  enduring  for 
centuries  and  changing  the  entire  future  of 
races. 

60 

Democracy  and  Revolution 

In  democratic  societies  it  is  difficult  for  such 
a  catastrophe  to  take  place,  so  far-reaching  are 
the  means  that  interest  finds  to  guide  the  popular 
mind,  and  so  diverse  the  political  forms  that 
grant  satisfaction  to  the  masses.  In  these  so- 
cieties, as  they  develop,  there  is  a  constant  aug- 
mentation of  interest  in  purely  political  contests, 
elections  multiplying  and  novel  questions  com- 
—220— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

ing  forward.  These  movements  constitute  a 
sportive  phase  of  life  and  popular  interest  be- 
comes absorbed  in  the  fortunes  of  parties  and 
individuals.  Issues  excite  little  attention.  The 
concept  of  success,  so  important  in  life,  appears 
again  in  another  world,  where  each  longs  to  be 
with  the  victor. 

All  democracies  are  autocracies  in  embryo; 
the  change  ensues  upon  their  moral  collapse. 
It  does  not  follow,  however,  that,  superficially, 
any  alteration  takes  place  in  the  actual  form  of 
organization,  for  democratic  forms  may  persist 
for  an  indefinite  period,  even  flaring  up  into 
transient  importance,  and  always  furnishing 
channels  for  the  expression  of  the  ambitions  of 
inferior  men. 

61 

On  Greatness 

The  changes  in  states  that  mark  the  steps  of 
what  is  termed  progress  are  nothing  more  than 
intervals  of  transition — the  descent  of  an  old 
power  group;  the  ascent  of  a  new.  Greatness  in 
commonwealths  is  distinguished  by  the  character 
of  those  who  compose  such  groups.  The  bril- 
liance or  pusillanimity  of  nations  is  simply  a 
—221— 


DEMOCRACY 


reflection  of  brilliant  or  pusillanimous  personali- 
ties. The  state  does  not  create  greatness  in  indi- 
viduals, but  greatness  in  individuals  creates 
greatness  in  states.  Civilization  itself  is  only  a 
manifestation  of  the  eff"ect  of  powerful  spirits  on 
the  primary  human  relations.  The  quality  of 
an  epoch,  morally  and  intellectually,  can  be  no 
higher  than  those  qualities  among  its  superior 
groups.  This  becomes  transparent  after  serious 
national  disasters,  in  which  an  older  caste  either 
disappears  or  becomes  impotent.  An  immediate 
change  is  apparent  in  the  ideas  and  actions  of 
the  masses.  The  spell  of  the  great  mind  is  gone; 
mediocrity  is  ascendant.  It  is  as  if  a  new  nation 
had  been  born.  Nothing  of  the  old  remains  but 
a  name  and  a  tradition. 

It  is  certain  from  this  that  every  state  will,  at 
intervals,  undergo  mental  decline,  rising  again 
as  stronger  characters  appear  and  achieve  their 
will.  The  war  that  forever  maintains  among 
men  is  this  struggle,  and  nothing  else.  In  it 
there  will  be  periods  when  real  eminence  will  be 
impossible,  and  at  such  times  and  in  such  na- 
tions long  lapses  of  vacillation  and  weakness 
must  ensue.  In  modern  times  the  diverse  agen- 
cies that  control  public  thought  make  it  possible 
—222— 


A?^D  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

for  combinations  of  mediocrities  to  balance  or 
surpass  actually  superior  types.  Intellectually, 
this  fact  limits  all  real  greatness,  and  even  ordi- 
nary thought  is  hampered.  It  is  only  in  com- 
monwealths dominated  by  powerful  minds  that  a 
free  expression  of  opinion  is  tolerated.  The 
mediocre  man  takes  no  risk  that  can  be  avoided 
and  harshly  confines  the  range  of  permissible 
ideas  to  those  that  favour  his  cringing  path.  He 
is  beset  by  fear,  the  guerdon  of  the  weak,  but  the 
strong,  swayed  by  no  such  weakness,  remain  in- 
different to  sentiments  that,  to  them,  are  casual 
and  puerile.  They  feel  superior  to  them  at  all 
times. 

It  has  been  under  the  protection  of  the  great 
that  the  world's  periods  of  apex  culture  have 
been  attained.  This  is  a  universal  principle, 
and  one  confirmed  by  every  record. 


—223— 


REFLECTIONS 


VIII 

Reflections 
62 

The  Struggle  for  Self-Expression 

The  eternal  struggle  of  the  superior  man  for 
independence:  such  is  the  history  of  society, 
rightly  understood.  It  is  apparent  that  his  aim 
is  never  achieved.  He  can,  at  best,  become  but 
part  of  a  dominant  caste,  and  even  here  his  path 
is  lined  with  difficulties.  Obstacles  face  him  at 
every  step.  The  lives  of  the  truly  great  are 
therefore  always  tragical.  Mediocrity,  even 
when  exalted  by  a  transient  fire,  eventually  turns 
upon  and  destroys  them. 

The  man  of  genius  alone  attains  some  ap- 
proach to  freedom,  but  this  is  due  to  the  peculiar, 
even  unique,  expression  that  the  will  to  power 
assumes  in  such  personalities.  Disdainful  of 
environment,  they  treat  the  world  more  as  idea 
than  as  reality,  and  act  upon  it  as  they  would  act 
—227— 


DEMOCRACY 


upon  other  ideas.  Genius  may  be  regarded  as 
an  essay  of  nature  to  produce  a  master  type,  the 
so-called  superman,  but  if  so  the  effort  so  far 
has  failed.  It  is  curious,  also,  that  such  men 
rarely  perpetuate  themselves  or,  if  they  do,  their 
offspring  evince  few  of  their  gifts.  Nor  is  their 
low  fecundity  due  to  any  neglect  of  sex,  for  their 
singular  characteristics  and  brilliant  personali- 
ties prove  irresistible  attractions  to  women. 

In  the  will  war  woman  always  appears  as  a 
weakening  factor.  This  position  is  logical,  for 
Nature  ever  impels  her  to  war  upon  the  male. 
The  study  of  her  status  is  important,  for  from  it  is 
to  be  inferred  the  degree  of  masculinity,  or  will, 
in  man.  Woman  does  not  "rise,"  the  world  to 
the  contrary  notwithstanding.  Her  relation  to 
society  is  constant;  she  is  Sex,  and  cannot  es- 
cape her  inborn  limitation;  nor  should  this,  in 
any  sense,  be  held  derogatory.  The  mere  fact 
that  such  a  view  may  be  entertained  confirms  the 
falseness  of  her  present  position.  That  the  con- 
sequences must  be  fruitful  of  evil  in  their  effects 
on  breeding  is  to  be  deplored,  but  cannot  be 
avoided.  Under  the  conditions  existing,  the 
masculine  will  must  experience  further  deteri- 
oration, but  that  eventually  a  balancing  counter 
—228— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

tendency  will  appear  is  reasonably  certain,  since 
this  has  always  been  the  case  in  the  past.  The 
ascendant  woman  is  not  new  to  history. 

63 

Happiness 

Happiness  and  pleasure  are  often  confounded. 
The  latter  is  really  a  form  of  pain,  and  gives 
satisfaction  because  it  offers  a  variation  in  sen- 
sation. To  that  degree,  it  may  be  termed  happi- 
ness, but  it  is  of  a  transitory  nature.  Such  as  it 
is,  it  is  accessible  to  all,  and  particularly  to 
the  weak. 

The  nature  of  the  superior  man  defines  the 
limit  of  his  access  to  the  internal  satisfaction 
that  constitutes  happiness  as  a  moral  experi- 
ence. His  driving  impulse  is  the  will  to  power, 
and  he  is  bound  by  it  as  remorselessly  as  is 
woman  by  sex.  It  is  in  the  expression  of  this 
will  to  power,  in  the  imposition  of  this  will,  that 
he  finds  joy.  Happiness  comes  to  him,  there- 
fore, as  the  result  of  war.  Genius  attains  the 
nearest  approach  to  it  of  all,  but  that  is  because 
it  lives  in  a  world  of  its  own.  . 


-229- 


DEMOCRACY 


64 

Evolution  and  the  Machine 

The  idea  of  evolution  is  confounded  with 
much  that  is  irrelevant  to  it.  The  development 
and  improvement  of  machinery  is  a  favourite 
theme  with  the  prophets  of  social  evolution. 
All  the  problems  of  life  are  to  be  solved  by  more 
perfect  mechanical  devices. 

Machinery  is  a  means  of  making  profit- 
able many  forms  of  labour  otherwise  value- 
less. It  appeared  with  the  increase  of  raw 
materials  that  followed  trade  extensions  to 
America  and  the  Indies,  and  it  made  avail- 
able great  labour  deposits  of  a  crude  form. 
The  triangular  contest  of  England,  Hol- 
land and  France  to  hold  the  skilled  artisan  is  a 
matter  of  history.  The  machine  eased  a  difficult 
situation,  and  it  proved  a  stepping  stone  by  which 
a  new  ruling  caste  rose  to  power.  Of  itself, 
machinery  is  only  one  of  the  many  modes  the  will 
to  power  has  adopted  to  achieve  its  constant  pur- 
pose. Its  broad  use  has  led  to  many  changes  in 
the  details  of  living,  but  the  method  by  which 
man  works  and  moves  from  point  to  point  does 
not,  of  itself,  prove  that  a  change  has  occurred 
—230— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

in  him  so  fundamental  that  it  can  be  said  that 
"he  has  progressed."  Men  still  walk,  although 
aviators  can  fly;  the  latter  is  not  more  civilized 
than  the  pedestrian. 

To  the  philosopher,  evolution  can  be  interest- 
ing only  in  so  far  as  its  eff"ects  can  be  traced  on 
will  and  understanding.  It  is  in  the  mind,  there- 
fore, that  significant  changes  must  be  sought. 
Had  he  been  given  the  calculus  could  the  ancient 
Egyptian  have  understood  and  used  it?  Could 
his  mind  have  assimilated  the  theoretical  prin- 
ciples involved?  Is  the  mind  of  the  man  of  to- 
day peculiar  to  itself,  and  perhaps  distinguished 
from  that  of  his  ancestors  by  greater  range  and 
eff"ectiveness?  If  it  is,  it  has  progressed, 
evolved,  gone  on.  Would  the  ancient  Greek, 
brought  into  the  modern  world,  absorb  its  knowl- 
edge? Or  fail  by  mental  incapacity?  This  is 
progress,  if  there  is  any.  The  number  of  arms 
or  legs  a  man  may  have  is  of  no  importance. 

65 

The  Goal  of  Progress 

A  survey  of  the  general  tendencies  of  civiliza- 
tion during  the  past  two  thousand  years  makes  it 
difficult  to  resist  the  conclusion  that  the  entire 
—231— 


DEMOCRACY 


period  is  only  a  part,  and  a  small  part  at  that, 
of  an  epoch  in  which  all  social  and  govern- 
mental elements  are  in  a  condition  of  flux.  That 
these  may  crystallize  into  a  fixed  form  eventu- 
ally does  not  seem  an  unreasonable  conjecture; 
nevertheless,  it  is  conjecture,  purely.  If  the 
latter  be  true,  however,  the  point  of  destination 
is  still  too  obscured  by  distance  to  enable  its 
being  reached  by  even  mental  vision.  In  what 
is  transpiring  no  phenomenon  is  revealed  from 
which  the  probable  nature  of  the  future  may 
be  inferred.  Broadly,  the  world  has  been  in 
chaos  ever  since  the  decline  of  Greco-Roman 
civilization.  The  extent  of  that  disaster  has 
never  been  thoroughly  grasped,  and  the  rise  of 
machine  civilization  has  helped  to  conceal  it. 

66 

Will  Deterioration 

The  weakening  of  the  will  of  the  lower  mass 
may  be  carried  to  a  point  where  it  becomes  a 
source  of  weakness  to  the  controlling  group.  A 
condition  of  such  lassitude  may  ensue  that  it  de- 
stroys the  activity  of  worker  groups.  Their  ef- 
ficiency departs.  Anything  that  tends  to  pro- 
duce negative  qualities  weakens  will.  A  soli- 
—232— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

tary  man  on  a  desert  island  is  not  necessarily  a 
saint,  although  the  corsair  would  have  it  that  he 
is  one. 

Oriental  races  have  shown  admirably  the  ef- 
fects of  extreme  will  deterioration;  can  it  be 
possible  that  the  "vices"  of  the  Occident  are  re- 
newing their  place  in  the  world? 


—233— 


ANCIENT  AND  MODERN: 
A  STUDY  IN  CONTRASTS 


IX 

Ancient  and  Modern:  A  Study  in 

Contrasts 

67 

The  Ancient  Historians 

Between  ancient  and  modem  historians  there 
is  a  marked  difference  in  method.  Among  the 
former  a  singular  broadness  prevails.  In  such 
writers  as  Herodotus,  Thucydides  and  Tacitus, 
names  taken  at  random,  the  fact  is  very  evident. 
The  first  of  these,  the  so-called  father  of  history, 
has  been  reproached  with  many  things,  but  his 
lucid  survey  of  a  world  that  he  looked  at  in  the 
living  flesh  remains  a  triumph  of  descriptive 
work  that  baffles  imitation.  This  is  particularly 
significant  when  it  is  borne  in  mind  that  to  the 
Greek  the  world  beyond  Hellena  was  barbarous. 
Notwithstanding  a  limitation  so  fundamental, 
wars  and  institutions  are  described  without  prej- 
udice, the  aim  being  to  elucidate  the  bald  fact 
—237— 


DEMOCRACY 


— truth  as  it  was  conceived  to  be.  Such  candour 
is  not  to  be  found  among  moderns,  where  bias 
marks  every  inspection  of  circumstance.  The 
delightful  feature  of  the  old  writers  is  their 
superb  simplicity,  their  singleness  of  purpose, 
their  childish  intentness  towards  act  as  act.  Ap- 
parently, they  had  no  idea  of  the  psychological 
or  the  apologetic. 

The  absence  of  the  deductive  or  prophetic  also 
distinguishes  them.  The  consequences  of  a  ser- 
ies of  movements  were  left  to  the  reader — if,  for 
that  matter,  he  ever  exercised  such  a  faculty,  or 
was  expected  to.  Certainly  it  may  be  said  that 
stories  and  legends  interspersed  the  narrative. 
But  what  of  it?  Perhaps  the  reader  was  not  as 
naive  as  he  is  now  thought  to  have  been. 
Humour  is  not  a  modern  invention.  The  an- 
cients laughed  more  frequently  than  we,  their 
descendants.  We  smile  lugubriously,  through 
many  tears. 

In  seeking  for  an  explanation  of  this  lack  of 
sibylline  power,  so  conspicuous  today,  the  rea- 
son may  be  ventured  that  the  contrast  arises  from 
the  greater  stability  of  form  of  living  and  of  in- 
stitutions among  the  ancients.  It  will,  of  course, 
be  contended  that  this  could  not  have  been  true; 
—238— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

that,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  governments  then  suf- 
fered frequent  overthrow  and  war  was  a  constant 
menace.  Nevertheless,  the  aherations  that  fol- 
lowed in  the  long  ago  were  slight.  Tradition 
and  the  social  norms  were  not  affected.  War 
and  its  consequences  were  viewed  as  essential 
elements  of  life,  unchangeable  factors,  simple 
manifestations  of  the  innate  tendency  of  ambi- 
tion. Even  Plato,  in  his  ideal  Republic,  ex- 
tolled the  mjlitary  profession  as  one  of  the 
noblest.     Each  man  was  to  be  an  able  soldier. 

These  differences  are  worthy  of  attention. 
What  historian  of  today  would  consider  his  work 
finished  without  a  homily  on  the  future?  With- 
out deductions  from  the  events  he  has  described? 
If  he  overlooks  so  general  a  duty  he  may  rest 
assured  that  another  will  do  it  for  him.  Proph- 
ecy has  become  one  of  the  most  popular  of  the 
arts.     They  formerly  left  it  to  oracles. 

The  modern  historian  approaches  his  subject 
with  an  a  priori  theory,  and  the  text  must  har- 
monize with  it.  If  he  is  a  royalist,  the  rise  of 
democracy  is  described  as  retrogression.  If  he 
is  a  democrat,  civilization  improves  as  the  fran- 
chise extends.  If  he  is  a  socialist,  all  progress 
follows  industrial  forms,  changing  with  them. 
—239— 


DEMOCRACY 


There  is  an  even  more  distinctly  modern  method, 
not  to  be  paralleled  in  the  past.  This  is  the  use 
of  pseudo-history,  in  which  everything  is  shown 
to  be  moving  towards  a  specific  end,  to  wit,  the 
writer's  hobby.  The  idea  of  progress  is  peculiar 
to  modern  history.  It  suggests  a  marked  change 
in  the  mental  attitude  of  man. 

Of  course,  something  akin  to  progress  appears 
in  the  work  of  the  ancients,  but  there  it  takes 
a  purely  psychological  form.  Plato's  "becom- 
ing" related  to  variations  in  the  life  of  the  soul 
rather  than  to  differences  in  the  dealings  of  men 
with  each  other,  or  in  the  details  of  life.  As  the 
modem  world  has  dismissed  all  spiritual  ele- 
ments as  nothing  more  than  phases  of  intellectual 
development,  the  idea  of  "becoming"  can  hardly 
be  construed  into  an  earlier  conception  of  pro- 
gress, or  as  being  prophetic  of  its  later  advent. 

68 

Nietzsche  the  Greek 

It  is  at  least  an  interesting  coincidence  that, 
of  moderns,  Nietzsche  alone  confines  progress  to 
the  change  that  takes  place  in  man  himself. 
That  is,  he  makes  it  a  psychological  matter  rather 
than  a  process  depending  on  alterations  in  en- 
—240— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

vironment.  Yet  he  views  man  from  a  purely 
materialistic  standpoint.  His  much  misunder- 
stood superman  is  a  being  tempered  by  experi- 
ence and  wisdom,  controlling  environment  and 
life  by  his  mastery  of  natural  laws,  his  perfect 
understanding  of  cause  and  effect  in  nature  and 
in  man.  The  more  popular  notion  today  is  that 
man  is  a  creature  of  his  surroundings,  changing 
with  them.  This  is  the  basis  of  so-called  scien- 
tific Socialism.  Some  writers  foresee  bald 
headed  races  and  toothless  men.  Others  astound 
reason  by  descriptions  of  coming  monsters  that 
are  to  be  all  brain.  These  possibilities  are 
proper  subjects  for  prayer.  Nietzsche  reflects  a 
more  ancient  view,  and  one  decidedly  Greek. 
This  Greek  outlook  is  characteristic  of  all  his 
work. 

69 

Ancient  and  Modern  Views 

Man's  attitude  towards  the  world  is  mental, 
whether  he  will  have  it  so  or  not.  It  presents 
itself  to  him  as  a  means  and  an  obstacle.  He 
seeks  to  transform  it  through  his  will.  The  an- 
cients assumed  that  in  Nature  man  was  supreme, 
shadowed  only  by  destiny,  the  hazard  of  action. 
—241— 


DEMOCRACY 


He  was  immeasurably  above  his  surroundings. 
This  seems  odd  today  when  his  relative  helpless- 
ness before  Nature  is  universally  admitted.  To 
the  ancient,  the  external  world  could  act  on  him 
only  to  the  degree  that  his  will  was  weakened. 
Today  it  is  believed  that  environment  can  modify 
that  will.     It  is  a  complete  reversal  of  view. 

70 

The  Subtle  Modern 

There  rises  a  greater  problem:  the  method  by 
which  intellectual  means  are  used  to  modify  gen- 
eral ideas.  Here  the  same  contrast  between  an- 
cient and  modem  looms.  In  one,  act  predomi- 
nates; in  the  other,  there  is  more  regard  to 
thought.  But  thought  must  take  a  moral  form — 
and  obviously  follow  an  ethics  to  the  author's 
taste.  Nevertheless,  being  morality,  it  is  not 
debatable.     Right  is  right. 

Here  is  a  radical  divergence  in  point  of  view: 
life  as  something  being  formed,  rather  than  as 
something  forming  itself — will  being  willed 
rather  than  will  willing.  What  is  indicated  is  a 
change  in  the  method  of  applying  will,  an  altera- 
tion in  the  mode  of  manifesting  the  will  to  power. 
This  leads  directly  to  the  problem  of  how  domi- 
—242— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

nant  spirits  assert  their  power.  It  embraces  the 
entire  record  of  so-called  progress.  It  is,  in- 
deed, the  secret  history  of  all  systems. 

Just  as  the  elder  chronicles  were  more  candid, 
so  were  the  ways  of  the  ancients  more  direct. 
There  was  no  meandering.  Violence  proceeded 
directly  to  its  object.  The  new  way  is  indirect; 
the  end  sought  is  to  control  thought.  This 
achieved,  the  rest  follows.  Written  history  thus 
becomes  a  field  for  philosophical  analysis,  not 
to  discover  an  ideal  system,  but  to  ascertain  the 
nature  of  the  impelling  ideas  that  appear  on  the 
surface  only  through  their  effects. 

The  distinction  between  the  work  of  ancient 
historians,  contrasted  with  moderns  is,  therefore, 
the  result  of  a  change  in  the  means  by  which 
forms  of  supremacy  are  maintained.  In  one, 
the  actor  moved  directly;  with  the  other  there  is 
more  of  the  devious,  yet  it  is  stronger.  The 
mass  responds  to  the  treatment  it  receives  be- 
cause it  is  trained  to  accept  certain  principles  as 
beyond  dispute.  Its  norm  is  submission. 
Here,  ancient  and  modem  meet  on  common 
ground. 


—243- 


DEMOCRACY 


71 

The  Eternal  Struggle 

Aspects  of  the  course  of  this  struggle  have 
formed  the  theme  of  these  pages.  It  is  a  vast 
expanse  and  only  an  outline  has  been  attempted. 
Broadly,  it  appears  that  the  aim  is  constantly  to 
harass  the  weak,  imposing  authority  in  one  way 
or  another.  But  this  view  is  superficial.  It  re- 
sults from  an  undue  emphasis  on  the  dramatic 
acts  in  the  world  of  action.  The  real  struggle 
is  between  powerful  minds.  Among  these  there 
is  a  tacit  assumption  that  the  mass  will  respond 
to  the  stimulation  of  intelligent  purpose.  The 
question  at  issue  is  merely  that  of  primacy  be- 
tween the  contending  spirits. 

It  is  a  struggle  that  never  ends,  although  its 
forms  alter.  Mediocrity,  ever  at  bay,  ever  es- 
says to  rise,  but  intellect  and  will  achieve  their 
object,  even  though  great  personalities  go  down. 
More  cogent  masters  peer  from  the  future.  In- 
tervals of  lassitude  interlap.  Thus  the  end 
never  varies,  but  method  changes  with  circum- 
stance. 

Historical  work  will,  then,  more  than  ever 
reflect  this  fact.  It  will  become  part  of  the  men- 
—244— 


AND  THE  WILL  TO  POWER 

tal  equipment  of  the  corsairs.  It  will  deal  less 
with  fact  and  more  with  popular  philosophy.  It 
will  not  be  a  record  of  events,  purely  as  such, 
but  of  a  moral  point  of  view:  that  of  the  will 
which  is  imposed  on  the  minds  of  majorities. 


THE    END 


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